


Cupcakes, Cigarettes and Beyond

by adrabbler



Series: Gatesverse [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:06:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 47,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrabbler/pseuds/adrabbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France takes a trip to the 2Pverse after taking a harsh rejection of his marriage proposal in 1956.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Cotton Candy Man scratched behind his ear, making Flying Mint Bunny mewl in delight. It's not his real name, but he always smells of candies and sweets, and he thought it was more appropriate. It's not often that he sees this man, his friend's cheerful (and much more colourful) reflection, but he appreciates the visit. The last time he had gone to this world to pick up some of England's cooking was forty years ago.  
  
"You seem a little grumpy, Arthur," the Cotton Candy Man observed. "What's the matter?"  
  
England grunted as he shoved the tray of dough into the oven. He switched the appliance on. "The same as it was the other time we met."  
  
At this, the Cotton Candy Man's smile diminished. "Oh. France again."  
  
"Bloody frog. I wish he'd just fucking disappear."  
  
"Arthur! Language!" the other gasped.  
  
"Sorry," England muttered, still sour. Well, Flying Mint Bunny could understand why he was so sour. Yesterday, France had come over to the house, handing a marriage proposal to his friend. Needless to say, England wasn't happy about it--particularly because what France was proposing was a marriage of convenience, a convenience that serves him. "All he does is come here and bother me and insult my cooking. This world would be a lot better if he just vanished."  
  
Cotton Candy Man stayed quiet. Flying Mint Bunny looked up at him, seeing the other man with a slight frown.  
  
"Do you ever have the same troubles with the France back in your world?" England asked off-handedly.  
  
The visitor's face became hard and unreadable. "I brought you cupcakes," he said, tapping the large box he had brought with him on the table. Then he lifted the lid and took out a pink one. "I brought you different flavoured ones. I thought you might like some."  
  
"Oh, thank you," England said walking over to him and taking the cupcake from his hand.  
  
"This one is a new recipe," Cotton Candy Man said excitedly. "I mixed it up a little bit."  
  
"You're having fun with cupcakes, aren't you?" England said with a snort and took a bite. "Pomegranate."  
  
"Yes!" Cotton Candy Man squealed. "Do you like it?"  
  
"It's quite delicious," England said with a nod and a smile. He lifted the lid to peer inside the box. "All the colours of the rainbow. How lovely."  
  
"I'm glad you like them," Cotton Candy Man said with a big smile. "You're the first one to try them!"  
  
England raised a gigantic brow at him. "Why haven't you given them to the others back home?"  
  
Cotton Candy Man pouted. "Alfred always thinks all the food that isn't his own are poisoned so he throws them away. Matthew locked himself up in his cabin these last few years so I can't talk to him either. The rest...well...they don't really like me."  
  
England nodded and took another bite. "More for me then," he said with a kind smile.  
  
At this, Cotton Candy Man instantly brightened. "Would you like the recipe? You can incorporate them with your scones!"  
  
"That sounds lovely," England said, going over to one of his drawers and procuring a notepad and a pen. He tossed them to Cotton Candy Man.  
  
Cotton Candy Man removed his hand from Flying Mint Bunny to catch the items.  
  
"You just make yourself at home, Oliver," England said, taking two more cupcakes, a powder blue one and an orange one with him. "I'll just be upstairs for a bit. Paperwork and all that, you know?"  
  
"Oh of course!" Cotton Candy Man said, nodding.  
  
"I'll keep him company!" Flying Mint Bunny piped up.  
  
England nodded and climbed up the stairs.

* * *

  
A tipsy France sat at the curb and leaned against the lamp post, bottle of wine in hand. It was probably already midnight since the streets were empty. Or maybe it was three in the morning? He really didn't feel like lifting his arm to look at his watch.  
  
It must be time to go home. Well, he should have gone home yesterday after his proposal was rejected, but instead, he got wasted on bottles of cheap wine and started roaming the streets. He doesn't really feel like going back home just yet to think about a new solution to fix his impending economic collapse (no thanks to rosbif). He wasn't all that sure what to do next, really. He wasn't even sure if the bottle in his hand is still wine. Come to think of it, he's not sure how nobody's tried to put him in jail yet for roaming the streets drunk.  
  
France lifted the bottle to his lips and drank, spilling a little on his shirt.  
  
"France?" he heard a very familiar voice say from his left.  
  
He looked to his left and saw England looking at him with what seemed like a pout, a sack of whatever hauled behind his back.  
  
_Magnifique._  "Bonsoir Angleterre," he sneered drunkenly.  
  
"How did you follow me here?" England said, clutching the sack, apprehensive.  
  
_Follow?_  "Q-Quoi?"  
  
"If you've come here t-to apologise, I-I-I'm not forgiving you," he said in a childlike petulance that was England for sure but not quite.  
  
"Why should I apologise?" France asked, scowling. "You're the one who rejected me and threw me out of your house, rosbif. To think I even bought you a ring too. You should be apologising to _me_." The nerve of this uncultured brute.  
  
At this, England's eyes widened and he visibly relaxed.  
  
France looked at him warily--or as warily as a man with swimming vision could.  
  
England walked towards him and crouched down to his level. He pushed the hair gently away from France's eyes.  
  
France flinched at the touch. He wasn't used to England being like this.  
  
England sighed in relief. "Oh thank god," he muttered. "You're the other France."  
  
"Q-Quoi?" France asked again. For some reason, England's eyes were teal.  
  
"Well, I must be off. I have to look for Flying Chocolate Bunny, you see," he said, standing up. "You should find a hotel soon! It looks like it's going to rain. Toodles!"  
  
France scrunched up his face. Something was terribly wrong with England tonight. He stood up and wobbled his way towards him. "A-Attends!"  
  
England turned around and caught him. He smelled oddly of cotton candy. "Dear me, you drink just as much as him, don't you?"  
  
"W-Who are you talking about?" France slurred.  
  
England looked away. "Just someone I know."  
  
France clutched at his sleeve. "Why are you--why are you up so late?"  
  
"Hmmmm shouldn't I be asking you that?" England asked, giggling.  
  
France furrowed his brows. Something was definitely wrong. "Who are you and what've you done to Angleterre?"  
  
England chuckled at him. "Oh don't worry, dear, the England here is safe. He's sleeping at his study in fact."  
  
"Q-Quoi?" France asked for the third time, feeling stupider by the second.  
  
"I'm England from another world," England explained. "I just came here to pick up a few things."  
  
France laughed out loud. It sounded louder in the empty street. "Are you drunk? Or is that the opium talking?"  
  
"Oh I don't drink, or consume opium," England said, blinking at him innocently.  
  
He laughed some more. Whatever it was that England's doing, France likes him better this way. "I like you better this way," he said, trying to wink at him. "Cheerful Angleterre. Much cuter."  
  
England giggled. "Really now? I'm not really who you think I am, but thank you! As much as I'd like to stay in your company, I really must go."  
  
He decided to go along with the ride. England was obviously just as drunk. How many times would he actually have an opportunity like this? "Vraiment? And where are you going, alien Angleterre?"  
  
"Well, I was going to go back home but Flying Chocolate Bunny wandered off so I can't really leave--"  
  
Something brown and fluffy hit France in the face square on, causing him to fall on his arse and cracking his head against the asphalt.

"Flying Chocolate Bunny!" cried England.  
  
"What's that _filth_ doing here?" whatever it was snarled.  
  
"He's the France from this world, dear," England explained.  
  
"Gldkjfgleurkeljdh," France gurgled, disoriented.  
  
"I'm so sorry," England said, hoisting him up. "Flying Chocolate Bunny thought you were someone else."  
  
"Flying what now?"  
  
"A France is a France regardless of dimension. I don't trust him."  
  
"Who's talking?" France said, turning his head around, trying to find the other speaker, causing him to get even more nauseated.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry, France, but we must go."  
  
"Go?" France asked, clutching tightly at England's sleeve, lest he fall. "Go where?"  
  
"Go back home, of course!"  
  
France only tightened his grip, vision still swimming. "Take me with you."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"We're not taking him with us."  
  
"S'il te plait, take me with you," France said, resting his head on England's shoulder. He needed a roof over his head soon or else he was going to vomit and pass out.  
  
"Oh but, can't he come with us? He seems nice," England said, embracing him back.  
  
"No! Why would you want to take him? You just fought with the one back home!"  
  
"But I don't think he's like France at all! Please? It would be doing Arthur a favour! Please? I'll make sure he won't get into trouble!"  
  
"We don't have enough magic to carry all three of us!"  
  
"We can go to the Henge! I'm sure it will have enough to--"  
  
"No. Stop wasting time, England. It's almost midnight!"  
  
"Please? I'll make sure he doesn't bother you. He's only going to stay for a short while, I promise. Please?"  
  
"No, and don't give me that look!"  
  
"Pleeeeaaaaaaasssssee?"  
  
England stroked his hair gently and France moaned as the tender part of his head was touched, embracing the other tighter. "Please?"  
  
He heard an exasperated sigh. "Fine. But keep your promise."  
  
"Thank you!" England squealed and then France blacked out.


	2. Chapter 2

_"It's a calendar."_

_England wanted to crumple the offending piece of paper and shove it along with the bloody ring he's brought with it down the frog's throat. The nerve of this frog, coming up to him and proposing this to him, as if he were selling a piece of meat._

_"Whatever makes it easier for you to sign it, I don't care," France said, blowing off smoke from his blasted cigarette. He looked tired, although admittedly, not tired enough that he should be going around making stupid proposals like this. If he wasn't such an overdramatic piece of shit--if he didn't smoke like a chimney--_

_"Put that out or so help me--"_

_France leaned over and obediently stubbed his cigarette onto England's ash tray, angering him further. The only thing he hated more than an obnoxious France was one that was pretending to be docile and obedient. France was never docile and obedient._

_Nor this silent._

_"If you're trying to get a rise out of me, you're doing it very poorly," he snarled at him._

_France had the gall to raise a brow at him. "I don't understand why you're so against it. Weren't you the first to propose marriage to me?"_

_England reddened. "We were in the middle of a war, you git," he hissed. He wouldn't have proposed marrying this ponce otherwise. It was a last resort, obviously. Seeing as how France didn't seem to be at the brink of death this time, this marriage proposal was in obvious violation of whatever it was between them._

_"It wasn't because you loved me?" France said with a small smirk._

_He wanted to punch the frog square on his perfect nose as he felt the heat rise on his cheeks. "If you think that's the reason, then you're a bigger idiot than I thought."_

_The other man looked down on his own lap. "I am an idiot," the man agreed solemnly, voice soft. "I know the exact reason you asked me. Why else would I have refused?"_

_England raised a brow at that. What the hell does that mean, exactly?_

_"Regardless, I imagined you would jump at the idea of finally owning me," France said nonchalantly, surverying his nails. "Isn't that what you've always dreamed of? Subduing me?"_

_**Not like this**. He grit his teeth. "One would think you'd have been tired of that. Isn't that why we freed you from Germany in the first place?"_

_He waited for a reaction, but saw that France wasn't taking the bait. It looks like he'll have to try harder. "Or are you just that much of a coward to face something so basic as maintaining your economy? I knew you were a fucking weakling but I never imagined you'd actually break like this and come crawling over here begging to suck my cock for money."_

_There were a few moments of silence. If there was anything he knew, it was that France was forever a proud bastard. He would definitely not take that sitting down._

_"What does it matter?" France said, his smile cracking a little. "Whether it's you or it's Allemagne--it makes no difference."_

_England froze, feeling as if he had been drenched with freezing cold water, bitter bile going up his throat, chest contracting a little painfully. His hand curled into a fist, crumpling the stupid treaty proposal into an impossibly tight ball._

_"Get out."_

_"Angle--"_

_"Get out and take your fucking ring with you," he growled angrily._

_France remained seated and just looked at him like the great idiot he is. **Now** he was defying England?_

_Incensed, he grabbed the small velvet ring box, and threw it and the crumpled paper square at France's face, who caught both as they fell on his lap. England wasted no time. He grabbed at France with more force than necessary and started shoving him to the door._

_"Go to your fucking precious Jerry and may you both rot in hell," he growled into France's ear before throwing him out onto the pavement outside his house, watching with great satisfaction as the bastard tumbled unceremoniously._

_He shut the door with a loud satisfying bang._

 

England woke up with a start. It felt as if a small bit of electricity shot against his neck. It was oddly a familiar sensation.  
  
He groaned, rubbed the back of his neck and looked up, seeing that he was still in his study. And he apparently drooled on his sleeve. He rubbed at his face tiredly. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about that--that _waste of landmass_. He hopes that'll be the last he'll see of the gutless bastard. He exhaled loudly through his nose.  
  
He stretched his arms and looked at the clock. It was already eleven forty four. He might as well go to sleep.  
  
Standing up and scratching his sides, he decided that yes, it was time to retire to bed. He'll finish the paperwork in the morning. With that thought, he turned off his study lamp and got up from his desk.

Before he could peacefully retire, however, he stepped on something soft. Looking down, he saw a crumpled piece of paper. He closed his eyes and exhaled. He bent down, picked it up, and chucked it into the bin without a second thought before he shut the study door.


	3. Chapter 3

France blinked, waking up to the sweet smell of vanilla. He opened his mouth and felt how dry it was. He groaned and sat up.  _What happened last night?_  He looked down at his body underneath the blanket and saw that he was in a frilly pair of pyjamas. He furrowed his brows.  _What happened last night?_  
  
He got up from bed and tried to remember as hard as he can what happened the night before. He looked around the room. The walls were a pastel peach colour decorated with dainty looking furniture. The bedside lamp had lots of lace and was powder blue. The rocking chair by the window was lavender. He furrowed his brows at that. All right, he's not at his house. He doesn't even recognize this room at all. He looked out the window and saw that it was drizzling outside. _Rain_. England? He ran his fingers through his hair. That's right...he was in England. He was rejected and manhandled out of the house. He bought himself a bottle of wine and roamed the streets of London drunk. Then he met England again. Only it wasn't England.  
  
He blinked several times. Was he in England? He shook his head. England said something about going home, and the next thing he knew, he was talking to a unicorn at the Stonehenge. That part must have been a dream already.  
  
Regardless, he had to know where he was. He walked out of the room. The walls in the hallway were pastel pink with equally dainty wallpaper design. He doesn't recognize this place at all. He proceeded to go down the stairs, touching the white banister as he went down. Who lived here? Who picked him up last night?  
  
At the end of the stairs was a living room. He breathed in and out. Yes, he definitely didn't know this place. The living room was lined with dainty wallpaper again--this time it was a faint shade of green. The turquoise couch was plushy and were of the victorian design with a lace trim. An ornate white coffee table sat at the center with a vase of white roses on the centrepiece. The lady who lived here was probably rich.  
  
"Oh, you're awake!" a cheerful undoubtedly English accented  _male_  voice said behind him. "Did you sleep well?"  
  
France turned around and saw England--but it wasn't England. His hair was strawberry blond, he was wearing a turquoise bowtie, purple waistcoat and a sunny smile on his face. He doesn't think he's ever seen England this colourful. Or pleasant.  
  
"It wasn't a dream," he breathed, fearfully.  
  
"Dream?" the man asked, quirking a brow.  
  
France just stared. What is this creature in front of him?  
  
England shook his head. "You must be hungry. Come to the kitchen, I've made you fairy cakes," the strange creature said, taking his hand and leading him to the kitchen.  
  
"W-Who are you?" France asked in a shuddering whisper.  
  
"I'm England, silly!" the man said, giggling. _Giggling!_ "My, you must have drunk too much, haven't you?" He seated France on a dainty yellow chair at the dining table. "You woke up just in time! The fairy cakes just finished cooling."  
  
 _Yes, I'm drunk. I must be passed out somewhere right now._ "Please tell me where I am."  
  
"You're in London, silly!" this new apparently sweeter England said. "Well, not the London you know but the London here! In my world!"  
  
"Q-Quoi?" What he wonders is why. Why is he dreaming of England right now? Why can't it be Italy or Spain instead? He'd have even preferred Netherlands at this point. And why did it feel so real?  
  
"My world!" this England squeaked. "It's very similar to your world, where we have all the other countries too, but they're just a little different. We still have the same wars, treaties and people. Just a little different." He chuckled. "It's a good thing you woke up! I was quite worried, you know. See, I thought you'd be an insomniac like him and when you fainted I was almost sure you died. But you woke up just in time for the gatekeeper to interrogate you."

France looked at this creature swaying his hips as he made his way towards a tray at the counter, all the while humming. "This is all happening," France whispered to himself, still not believing it.  
  
"Well of course it is," this cheerful England said, smiling back at him.  
  
"How did I get here?" he asked, afraid of the answer.  
  
"Well," other England said, puffing out his cheeks. "I magicked you here. Through the Stonehenge."  
  
France licked his lips and kept himself calm. No, this can't be real. He's probably still asleep. "And...can I get back?"  
  
"Hmmmm? Yes of course!" he laughed, as he took a saucer out from the cupboard and placed something on it. "You are just a visitor, after all."  
  
He breathed a sigh of relief. "How may I get back?" he asked, because he really didn't know how he got there in the first place.  
  
"Oh don't worry about that," the cheerful England said, setting down what looks oddly like a respectable cupcake in front of him. "I'll escort you back home myself. I don't like leaving my guests to fend for themselves!"  
  
Francis would've smiled if he hadn't just been served with English baking. He looked at the confection with dread. It didn't look anything like the England back home makes. In fact, it looked like a perfectly normal cupcake with white icing on top and a small carrot made of fondant on top. He looked up at his host to see the man looking at him expectantly.  
  
He bit his lip. "What is...this?"  
  
"A carrot fairy cake, silly!" the other man giggled. Giggled! He still can't get used to it. France has never seen England giggle while he's sober. Cheerful England tapped his cheek, as if remembering something. "Oh how rude of me! I didn't get you any tea!" He stood up and went back to the stove.  
  
France opened his mouth and closed it, looking at the cupcake with dread. He should find a way out of this, yes. Regardless of how harmless and normal it looked, it was still made by an England. "I...I probably shouldn't eat anything in my state."  
  
"Oh but it would help with any hangover you might have," the other man replied, and then his shoulders tensed. He turned around, looking at his guest with a crestfallen expression. "You...don't like carrot cakes, do you?"  
  
France's jaw hung open, at a loss for words. He didn't really mind carrot cakes, what he did mind was that it was English. He can't really say that out loud, especially since he can't predict how this new England would react.  
  
The new England rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the floor, looking humiliated. "I'm sorry...I just assumed...that since it's France's--well, our France's favourite, you might like it too..."  
  
France's eyes widened. There's another France? And he actually eats England's food? "Is that so?"  
  
"Yes," the other man said with an uneasy laugh. "I'll get you something else. What would you like?"  
  
"Non," France said, waving his hand. If the France here can eat it on a regular basis...surely he can too, right? He took the cupcake in his hand. It doesn't seem at all rock-hard like England's crumpets.  
  
"You don't need to eat it if you don't want to," the other England said, looking concerned.  
  
France gave him a crooked smile, gulped, and took a bite. What he tasted astounded him. The cupcake was moist and a bit sweet and not at all burnt or underbaked. In fact, the taste was so...wonderful that he felt a slight warm tingling on his tongue. He looked at the other England in surprise.  
  
"D-Do you like it?" the other England asked with a hopeful smile, eyes wide.  
  
France swallowed. "I--" he looked down at the cupcake again. He must be dreaming. This can't be real. "Is there rum in this?"  
  
The other England nodded, gulping. "Our France likes it that way."  
  
"It's wonderful," France whispered, taking another bite out of the cupcake.  
  
England exhaled a sigh of relief, cheeks colouring. "I'm glad you like it."  
  
"Where did you learn this?" France asked, licking his lips.  
  
"I...experimented," he said, blushing and smiling shyly.  
  
France's eyes widened. If the England here is a great baker, who knows what the France here can do? "What about the other France? Do you bake together?"  
  
The other England pouted. "I wish," he said sadly. "France doesn't really like to bake--or cook, but he makes good sandwiches. And salads occassionally."  
  
"What?"

The kettle whistled. "Tea's done!" England said, excited and going back to the stove.  
  
The France here doesn't indulge in culinary refinement. The England here makes great cupcakes. He bit into his snack. He is dreaming. Yes. _Definitely._  
  
England gave him his cup of hot tea. "It's chamomile," he said, with a wide warm smile. "Sugar?" A bowl of rock sugar was pushed his way.  
  
France blushed, unused to this friendliness coming from someone with England's face. He didn't even think England could make such a face. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"  
  
"Dreaming?" England asked, quirking an eyebrow.  
  
"You're very different from the Angleterre back home," he said, not really thinking anymore. Well, he is just dreaming, isn't he?  
  
England sat thoughtfully in front of him. "Well, we do have our differences, I suppose," he said with a quirk on his mouth. "What about you? Are you any different from our France?"  
  
"I've never met him," France said, taking another bite.  
  
"Oh yes, I'm sorry about that," England said, blinking. "Well obviously, your appearance is already different."  
  
"Different how?"  
  
"Well, your hair isn't greasy, and you obviously shave. And bathe regularly."  
  
France furrowed his brows. "My counterpart is a hobo." This must be a dream. It has to be.  
  
"A writer," England corrected. "And a philosopher. But he could use a few washes, I think. And sleep. And he should drink and smoke much less. Do you smoke?"  
  
"Yes," France said, face sour.  
  
"Ah, a similarity!"  
  
"Tell me at least that he is romantic," France sighed.  
  
"Romantic?" England asked, tilting his head in confusion.  
  
France groaned and took a sip of his tea. It was sweet even without sugar.  
  
"If it helps, he's very good with the rapier, and other weapons," England said with a big smile. "He almost cleaved my ear off the last time I visited him."  
  
"So he is a violent brutish hobo," France summarised, not at all liking how his counterpart is turning out to be.  He wondered how his brain could even conjure up a version of himself that's any less magnificent than he is now.  
  
"You're not much like our France are you?" England asked, his eyes softening.  
  
"From what I've heard today, non," France muttered. He looked up at his host. "You're not like our Angleterre either. You're much more pleasant, you can bake very well, and...you're not afraid of touching." Yes, he suddenly remembered how this England had unabashedly embraced him when France was fighting for consciousness.  
  
England giggled. "Yes, he doesn't appreciate hugs and kisses."  
  
France quirked an eyebrow, suddenly more interested. He leaned towards the other man. "And you do?" he purred.  
  
He giggled some more and pointed at his pink cheek.  
  
France leaned in and pecked him on the cheek. The other sighed in appreciation. "For the cupcake," he whispered into his ear. He could...maybe...stay...for a week? Yes, that sounds nice.  
  
"You're not like our France at all," England muttered, eyelids lowered, smiling lazily. Oh France is definitely staying now. For a week. Or more. "He hates me, you see."  _Maybe more._  
  
"And you're not like my Angleterre," France mumurred, pecking his lips this time. "He hates me too."  
  
England hummed and pecked his lips back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate version of one scene here:   
> http://adoodler.tumblr.com/post/36264940859/more-yes-this-is-cc-b


	4. Chapter 4

England woke up, eyes fluttering open to see France sleeping peacefully beside him. No--this wasn't--he was the other world's France. He scooted over, revelling in the shared warmth.

He replayed the last few hours in his head and blushed. His fairy cakes had accidentally turned his guest's eyes into--into--

_He looks just like him._

He nuzzled closer to his bed mate. He knows this man isn't him, though. This France was so much gentler and so much more affectionate. He didn't smell or taste like cigarettes and rank liquor. _He touched me because he wanted to. Without any remorse._

When they slept together, France had caressed him gently and made love to him with so much tenderness and expertise that England actually wept in ecstacy. He'd never had a bed mate like him before. He'd never had someone care as much.

His heart beat loudly. _He has France's face too. He's like a dream._

His bed mate's arm tightened around him, bringing him closer and pressing his lips and lightly stubbled cheek against England's forehead for a morning kiss. England sighed happily.

_If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up ever again._

He looked up to meet France's eyes, only to see that they've turned back to blue again. Against his will, his heart sank. _It's already worn off._

"Allo," the man whispered in a baritone voice and placed a small kiss on the bridge of his nose.

England smiled at him. "Hold that thought," he said, before jumping out of bed, grabbing his boxers from the floor and dashing out the room.

As he struggled putting his boxers on and running towards the kitchen at the same time, Flying Chocolate Bunny appeared beside his head, making him squeak in surprise and fall on his half-covered buttocks on the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?" Flying Chocolate Bunny asked, tone accusing.

"Going to the kitchen to get some more fairy cakes?" he said, smiling sheepishly.

"You slept with the guest," Flying Chocolate Bunny growled, circling his head angrily.

England laughed uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, things turned into this and that...and I...we just had a little bit of harmless fun is all."

"You promised to bring him back home after twenty four hours!" the fairy hissed.

England adjusted his boxers and stood up. "Exactly! It hasn't been a full day yet!" He strode towards the kitchen and picked up one of his fresher fairy cakes from underneath the glass case. _One should be enough._ Then he thought better of it and just brought the whole plate with him.

"So you're bringing him back home tonight?"

England shrugged and headed back for the stairs. "If he wants to go home, then yes!"

"What do you mean if he--" then the fairy realised what he was saying. "This was your plan all along!"

England pouted at him, but he couldn't feel slighted at the comment. He felt better than he had in years. He hadn't intended to sleep with this France. He wasn't planning anything, actually. Things just happened, and there was a possibility that this new sweet romantic France might want to stay a little longer than planned. Going back home required consent too, after all. That's how most good magic worked anyway.

"And where are you taking those?"

"To my guest, of course! I can't let him go hungry!"

"You're _feeding_ him?" Flying Chocolate Bunny hissed, outrage. "Are you even planning to let him go back home?"

"Of course I am!" England said. "How often do I get to see him actually eat my food and appreciate it at the same time? I just want to see--"

"You're violating several protocols! You're not supposed to be feeding him!"

"He already ate one!" England whispered. "One more isn't going to hurt, and besides, if he says he wants to go home, I'll let him!"

"How can I be sure?"

England stopped in his tracks and turned to the fairy. He held out his pinky finger to him. "I promise. I'll let him go home as soon as he says he wants to go back home."

The fairy just looked at his extended finger warily before extending his paw and touching it.

"There. It's final. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

Flying Chocolate Bunny frowned at him before disappearing.

England sighed. _Yes, this is only temporary._ He walked up to his bedroom door and opened it, seeing France lying seductively on his bed, the other half of his body barely covered.

"I was wondering where you went," the man purred.

"I was just a little peckish, love," he said, putting down the plate of fairy cakes on the bedeside table before taking one and hopping back onto the bed.

"I was--" France was cut off from whatever he was about to say because England had chucked a small piece of the fairy cake in his mouth.

France chewed on the little morsel tentatively and then swallowed, but nothing happened.

_It's not enough._

"Cher--"

England took the opportunity and put a larger piece of the fairy cake in his mouth.

France coughed, sitting up. He swallowed the morsel with a hand over his mouth before he turned back to England. His eyes had turned into pink.

"Cheri! That is not the way to feed your lover!" France said, laughing. _He called me his lover_! England couldn't help but blush profusely at that. "It is not sexy!" He then took the fairy cake from England's hands and rolled over on top of him.

"This is how," he murmurred, voice an octave lower. He took a bite out fo the fairy cake before lowering his head and kissing England, passing on the piece into his mouth.

England moaned into the kiss, wrapping his hands around the man's body. He swallowed the cake, licking his lips and looking into France's beautiful pink eyes.

He hummed. "You're right as always, pet," he whispered, leaning up and brushing his lips against France's. "This is sexy."

* * *

  
Flying Chocolate Bunny appeared at the library, mood considerably bad after learning that England was stretching his promise again. _And all for the sake of a France too!_

His wings fluttered, exasperated. _What does he see in him?_

He would have continued on with his grumbling had he not seen a pixie perched on top of one of the shelves, observing him with an excited gleam upon her eyes.

"Hello," the pixie greeted him blithely.

Flying Chocolate Bunny's mood soured some more. _Great. It's Loola._ "What do you want?"

"Oh I just came by," the pixie said, hovering towards him, "visiting a friend, you know, after my routine check at the Stonehenge."

Flying Chocolate Bunny grit his teeth.

"The old gatekeeper had a very interesting story!"

Flying Chocolate Bunny flew over to the window sill, the pixie following him.

"Your ward isn't misbehaving again, is he?"

"He's not," Flying Chocolate Bunny answered, annoyed. "He's not up to anything."

"Well that's good then!" the other exclaimed, sitting down on the window sill beside him. "You know the only reason he hasn't been hexed is because of you."

"I know."

"And you also know that the longer you keep this babysitting job, the more your name gets tarnished, right?"

Flying Chocolate Bunny fluttered his wings.

"All right, don't be too upset," the pixie said, holding her hands up. They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before she started talking again. "I'm still going to have to report you, you know."

Flying Chocolate Bunny glared at her. "He isn't doing anything illegal." And really, England wasn't. That didn't mean that he couldn't get incriminated for it. The Fae are already pretty displeased with him. He wouldn't put it past them to just carelessly hand in a punishment if they could.

She shrugged. "That's true. But even if it is legal, he's posing some potentially dangerous threat over us. You know he's still being watched."

"He promised to keep him within the confines of this house until he returns home."

"And you'll do damage-control if--I'm sorry, _when_  he eventually botches that up, I'm sure," the other said impatiently. "If I remember right, he's very close to that smelly child across the channel. Isn't that the visitor's counterpart? Too risky, if you ask me."

Flying Chocolate Bunny scowled at her.

"Nobody trusts him except you," the pixie shrugged.

Flying Chocolate Bunny just looked out into the sky. "You're really going to report him?"

"It's my job."

He sighed. He didn't want to have to do this, but he had no choice. Loola had a weakness that others tended to take advantage of. He hated taking advantage of fellow fae. "Too bad then," he said, taking a small saltwater taffy from within his fur. "I guess I'll just keep this to myself."

The pixie blinked at him, and then started flitting about behind him, trying to get a better look at the treat. "What's that?"

"Taffy," he said, nonchalantly opening the wrapping.

The pixie gulped. "F-From--"

"America," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, sniffing the treat. "From the other England's world, of course."

The other gasped. Flying Chocolate Bunny did his best to not smirk. American sweets were hard to come by, especially since the North American continent had been closed off to all fae. It was just lucky that Flying Chocolate Bunny happened to know a witch who'd just come from there.

"Maybe I was being too hasty," the pixie said, gulping.

"Oh but Loola, council members aren't allowed to have human sweets, remember?"

The pixie's mouth twitched. "B-But it's not like they would know," she whimpered, trying to keep her shaking in control.

"And it's not like they would know about England's guest, right?" he asked, waving the candy in front of the pixie's face.

"What guest?" the pixie said, making a grab for the candy.

"That's right," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, letting go of the taffy and watching the pixie eat it hungrily.

"I hate you," Loola said dejectedly after finishing off the treat.

"Don't worry, I've put up barriers everywhere," Flying Chocolate Bunny assured her. "Our France won't be able to get into the house and England made sure the visitor won't be able to get out until it's time."

"You'd better make sure," the pixie whined, licking her fingers.

"My magic is foolproof," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, rubbing his cheek.

"Foolproof against only one fool," she muttered. "How's the cousin, by the way?"

He rolled his eyes. "Still the idiot he is."

"Not up to anything?"

"No," he shook his head. "He seems content lounging about and not doing anything."

She snorted. "Well, that's good." She wiped at her face, searching for any more traces of the sweet.

Flying Chocolate Bunny continued to look outside, wings stiffening as he saw a light blue sportscar pulling over in front of England's house.

"Oh!" Loola exclaimed, flying over and pressing her nose against the glass. "Trouble's here."

"Don't worry," Flying Chocolate Bunny muttered as he watched.

France got out of the car, holding a bunch of weeds in one hand and cigarette perched in his foul mouth. He walked up to the door in a very awkward slow stroll, before knocking on the door.

Loola watched too, her wings showing agitation as a couple of minutes passed of her just watching France knock. "Nothing's happening!"

Flying Chocolate Bunny hummed.

"Don't hmmmm at me!" she hissed at him. "Do something!"

"I am."

"Wha--"

"I made an alternate space spell," he said quietly. Even if England goes out of the house, they won't see each other. All France will be able to see is a closed front door unresponsive to his knocks or his lockpicking skills.

"That's boring," she complained. "You could have just set him on fire or infected him with fuzzy green boils."

"Sometimes I wonder why you're still a council member," Flying chocolate Bunny deadpanned.

She harrumphed. "How's this going to deter him? He could just wait there forever, you know!"

"You don't know anything about humans at all," he muttered. Well, to be honest, he would've done something worse, but he knew England would be upset if he did. "He'll be gone in an hour. Maybe less."

"And what if he's not?"

"I'll make it rain," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, tail twitching.

"When did you become this boring?"

He ignored her and settled on looking at France, who seemed to have sat on the doorstep, waiting for someone to open the door for him.

His nose twitched. France was an impatient bastard. He wasn't one who waited. He should have been gone ten minutes ago.

 _That's not good_. His body shivered as a smile settled on his mouth. _Let's see how long you'll last._

Clouds started to gather overhead, as per his spell's instructions. It thundered ominously, signalling heavy rain. France, on his part, only looked up, shrugged, and continued to sit.

Flying Chocolate Bunny frowned at that. He was not acting normal at all.

* * *

_Flying Chocolate Bunny got back into the house at eleven in the evening. Centaurs were a lot of fun when they're drunk with mead. Almost as much fun as dwarves. He should go visit them more often._

**_Smile~~though your heart is aching~_ **

_Flying Chocolate Bunny paused. The gramophone. The gramophone was playing. It couldn't be the radio because it was too late at night. The house should already be really quiet at this time of night. There were thuds coming from the kitchen, almost like a knife coming down repeatedly on a chopping board._

_**Smile even though it's breaking~** _

_Strange. England should already be asleep by this time. Flying Mint Bunny decided to go to the kitchen to investigate._

_**When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by~** _

_England was at the counter, shredding carrots full force with a kitchen knife. Flying Chocolate bunny flew just right behind his back and watched. The chopping board was almost close to being shredded along with the vegetables. There was already a bucketful of shredded carrots to England's left. What would he need_ this much carrots _for?_

**_If you smile through your fear and sorrow~_ **

_"England...?" he ventured. "What are you doing?"_

**_Smile and maybe tomorrow~_ **

_England continued to chop unfazed. "Carrot cake," the other mumbled._

_**You'll see the sun~come shining through~~for you~** _

_His nation was acting strange. "Don't you think you already have enough carrots for this?"_

_England shook his head and continued shredding._

_**Light up your face with gladness~** _

_"It's late," Flying Chocolate Bunny reasoned. "You can do that in the morning."_

_His friend just shook his head again._

**_Hide every trace of sadness~_ **

_Flying Chocolate Bunny flew in front of him and was surprised at what he saw. England was crying. "Why are you crying? What happened?"_

_**Although a tear~may be ever~so near~** _

_England shook his head yet again and continued chopping, his tears going onto the carrots._

_"England, stop that."_

_**That's the time you must keep on trying~**  
_

_His friend still continued, his tears getting stronger this time._

_" **Oy** ," Flying Chocolate Bunny called him, but he still didn't stop. "Don't make me use magic on you now."_

_**Smile, what's the use of crying~** _

_England started to slow down until he finally stopped. He wiped his dripping face with his apron._

_**You'll find that life is still worthwhile~**  
_

_"What happened?" Flying Chocolate Bunny asked, gentler this time._

_His friend shook his head again, hiccuping this time._

_"Tell me," he encouraged, flying to his friend's shoulder._

_**If you just smile~** _

_His friend's shoulders started to shake as he sobbed. "H-He said he'd rather m-m-marry a--a--a--a lol--lollipop than m-me." He gasped. "B-B-Because it doesn't talk as m-much."_

_Flying Chocolate Bunny patted his neck with his paw. "Who said that?" Whoever it was is going to be in a world of hurt._

_England sobbed into his hands before answering, "F-F-France."_

_That **bastard**. He remembered now. England had told him excitedly about a marriage proposal from France weeks ago. He couldn't believe it himself when he first heard about it. Apparently, France had set up the whole thing to hurt England. "What he says doesn't matter! He's a big dummy!"_

_England just continued to sob into his hands._

_"England," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, caressing his friend's hair. "Don't listen to him. He's a smelly no-good drunk."_

_England hiccuped, his shaking hand on his mouth. "N-N-Nobody likes me."_

_**That's the time you must keep on trying~** _

_Flying Chocolate Bunny jumped and flew right in front of England's face. "England, that's not true. Don't talk like that!"_

_"I-I-It's true."_

_**Smile, what's the use of crying~** _

_"It's not!" Flying Chocolate Bunny yelled at him. "France is just too dumb to see how good you are!"_

_England whimpered into his hand._

_" **I** like you," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, patting his hand._

_**You'll find that life is still worthwhile~** _

_England hiccuped and wiped at his tears. "Really?"_

_"Yes! Of course!"_

_England smiled at him tearfully, although he could still see the pain deep in his eyes. France is going to pay. Pay very dearly._

_**If you just smile~** _

_"Now go upstairs and wash up. Let's get some sleep, all right?"_

_England hiccuped. "You'll sleep in my bedroom?"_

_He doesn't_ usually, _because he likes his solitude when he sleeps that and the fact that he'll never hear the end of it when the dwarves find out. But tonight he'll make an exception. "Yes, I will. Now go get ready for bed."_

_England nodded and went upstairs, still sobbing._

_When he sees France next time, he was going to claw that drunkard's stupid face into ribbons._


	5. Chapter 5

He's run out of cigarettes already, not that he would have been able to light one, seeing as how he was already dripping wet from rainwater. He sniffed and shivered. Well. It's been...what, six days now? Maybe more. He's not really sure. He already stopped counting after the third day--mostly because he was still shocked at the fact that England hadn't let him in on the first night.

He licked his lips and took out a wet piece of paper from his pocket. The poem that had been written on it was already too blurred to read properly. He tore it up with the ferocity he'd accumulated from days of waiting in the freezing rain. He threw the pieces of wet paper on the slushy of cigarette ash and wilted flowers he'd left on the side of England's porch.

He wiped the water out of his face and stood up. Well. That's that then. He's obviously not going to let him in any time soon. It was time to go home.

France exhaled, frustrated and maybe a little bit humiliated, before he started walking towards his car. As he reached for the car door, he took one last glance--or glare, rather, at the house, particularly at the ball of brown fur perched inside one of the windows on the second floor, before he cursed, went inside the car and drove away.

* * *

 

His nails sank into France's shoulders as the man pounded him into the bed.

"F-Fraaaaaaaannnce!" he whined, trying to retain even a little bit of a sanity.

The man, however, just mouthed his jaw in response, making him mewl in ecstacy. France moved up and devoured his mouth, making him moan as he reached ever closer to the end.

"Mon coeur, je t'aime," the man whispered to him, panting, as his thrusts began to get more erratic.

England opened his eyes to look at him, only to see that his eyes had turned back to those unfamiliar blues. His nails sank deeper.

"F-France, wait," he stuttered, trying to reach for the cupcakes at the bedside table.

"Non," France growled with a ferral grin, and for a moment, just for a moment, England remembered the France he was used to. The France who was across the channel right now--the one who threw him away. The France who didn't want him.

His hand retracted from the bedside table just as France grabbed him and started to pump him.

"F-France!" he squeaked, mind leaving him as he reached the end, coming into France's hand. France followed a few shuddering thrusts later before collapsing on top of him, trying to catch his breath.

England kissed him on the temple tenderly, muscles relaxing and unwinding in post-coital bliss. "I love you too, pet," he whispered into France's sweaty hair.

* * *

 

Canada licked his lips as he held the doorknob and positioned his wrench, concentrating on getting the England's lock to open. _God damned America stealing my fucking skeleton keys._ It's not like this is his first time trying to pick a lock, but he had been out of practice for a while now, after he shut himself in. _God damned fucking wars. I'm not getting involved in any more of them._ It's also for this particular reason that he's picking the lock right now instead of ringing the doorbell. He's only here for some ice cream cake, after all.

His wrench gave to his left. _There_. He rummaged for the paperclip he'd already bent precisely to fit England's lock. _Fuck where is it?_ He finally felt it at the seam of his breastpocket and he pulled it out--maybe a little bit too excitedly. The paperclip slipped from his grasp. "Fuuuuuuuuuuucccckkk," he swore quietly, closing his eyes. He wanted to bang his head against the door, but knowing that that wouldn't really help him any, he bent down to look for the paperclip instead. Apparently, it'd fallen on a wilted bouquet of flowers buried in a pretty tall mound of cigarette ash.

He raised a brow at that. England doesn't smoke, after all. He picked up his fallen pin and tried to fish out the bouquet. Apparently, the ash had already hardened, probably from a few days of rain. He tugged it a bit and the hardened ash crumbled, freeing the bundle of flowers. Bouquet was actually a generous term for it. It was just a bunch (eight to be exact) of wilted posies tied together by a ratty shoe string. He could even smell the cigarette brand from the ashes clinging to the decaying flowers.

 _Gauloises_ , he thought, frowning. _You'd think if France wanted to get an easy lay he'd put at least a little more thought into it._ He shrugged, dropped it on where it was and went back to business.

It only took a few more minutes before doorknob clicked. He smirked and pocketed his pins triumphantly. He opened the door and walked through the hallway straight to England's kitchen, not at all caring about the bear blood he's tracking on the carpet. He rummaged around the fridge for a tub of bacon-filled ice cream cake that only England makes. To be honest, he wouldn't have come out of his hiding if he wasn't craving for it so badly.

"There," he muttered, hand feeling the oval container. He took it out of the freezer and noticed a note: "To Mattie, Daddy loves you! <3"

Canada tucked it under his arm and made his way back to the hallway. He was almost out the door when he heard giggles.

Now, don't get him wrong--giggles are normal in England's house. But there was a voice giggling that shouldn't be in here. He backtracked slowly until he was at the doorway of the livingroom.

Sitting in the couch were England and France, with a heavy blanket wrapped around them up until their chins. _Son of a gun, he actually succeeded._

They seemed to be...yes, cuddling. Odd. Canada removed his sunglasses and walked carefully towards them. They were still giggling, and it looked like they were tickling each other.

"What're you doing?" he asked, if only to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"Oh Canada, dear!" England said, brightly, cheeks bright red. "You came for some dessert, I see."

Canada nodded at him, suspicious, before looking at France. For some reason, this France seemed terribly odd. He didn't have dark circles under his eyes--come to think of it, his eyes seemed a little unfocused and a little wrong in color--nor did he have the rough scruff on his cherry red cheeks. He was giggling too.

"This isn't France, is he?" he asked. He knew there was something strange but he can't really pinpoint it.

"Don't be silly, dear! He's France!" England giggled. "Aren't you, darling?"

"Oui," France giggled back. There was definitely something wrong. "You're Canada, non? Mon Dieu, he's much more rugged than the one I'm used to."

"Wha--?"

"He's the France from another world," England squealed, smooshing France's cheek against his.

"What...?" Maybe he stayed in that cabin for too long.

France just giggled.

"Canada, dear, did you get any fairy cakes for yourself?"

He shook his head. He was entranced. He'd never seen France like this before. This France obviously had way too much cupcakes.

"Oh you should. They're in the tin on the counter. I would get you some myself, but I'm a little...tied up at the moment," England chortled.

 _Ah fuck._ Canada grimaced at the realisation. He walked in on these two having sex. "Right, I'm out of here. See you in fifty years."

"Bye bye~~~!" "Au revoir~~!" He heard as he sped out of the front door.

He should've just stayed in the cabin.


	6. Chapter 6

France walked into the empty BMW autoshop, turning on a few lights as he went deeper. He was in Bonn for a diplomatic meeting with the Germans. After the proposal with England went sour, his bosses immediately turned to his other neighbours for support.

France looked at the BMW 507, not really thinking as straight as he normally did. He just stared at it, thinking about other things he shouldn't be thinking about.

 _Pathetic_ , he thought, watching his reflection on the car window. He didn't really understand it. What the fuck was England so upset about that he'd let France stay outside in the freezing rain for a week?

And how the hell did France even know he was upset?

He grit his teeth and looked down at his shoes. France didn't even do anything to him. Fucking whiny baby. He got upset over nothing like some damn woman. Fuck, he didn't have to put up with that bastard's mood swings.

Despite himself, he remembered how England looked the day he rejected France's proposal. How it looked like the world fell on him.

_Fils de pute, why should he be upset? He's the one who rejected me!_

He looked back at the car window and noticed something tall blond and muscular on the reflection.

_Is that--_

_BONK!_

France's vision blacked out as he fell to the floor with a thud. He could feel something warm trickle across his forehead. _Merde, I'm bleeding._

He felt someone grab his shoulder and turn him around.

"Scheisse!" he heard the man say. Well that confirms it. The asshole who hit him was definitely W Germany.

He tried to move his limbs but found them unresponsive. _Great_. Now he has to wait for his nerves to reconnect too. With the state his economy was in right now, this was going to be slow as fuck.

He heard W Germany start to pace around. He was probably thinking of running away. _That bastard better run._

Slowly, he started to feel himself heal little by little.

France groaned from where he lay and sat up, touching his bloodied temple. He was hit pretty hard. There was a crack in his skull. He opened his eyes and saw that his vision was swimming. _Great._ He hasn't completely healed yet.

"That hurt, boche," he mumbled, wiping away the blood. Then he saw the bloodied monkey wrench on the floor. "Did you really have to hit me with that?"

"I-It wasn't me," the buffoon lied through his teeth.

"Who else could it be, salaud?" France growled. "I saw your reflection on the car's window right before you hit me."

The other man stood there gaping at him like a complete idiot.

"Merde," France cursed, seeing there was more blood than he thought. "Get me a towel."

W Germany removed his shirt and offered it to him.

France just looked at it. "I said a towel."

"I don't have one right now," W Germany said.

France grudgingly took it and dabbed away at the blood. "What are you doing here anyway? Attacking random people in the middle of the night?"

"I thought you were a burglar."

He started rubbing the shirt on his hair. "So what are you now? Some vigilante out serving some street justice?"

"What are _you_ doing here anyway?"

France froze. Well then. How does he explain that he picked a lock on a private citizen's shop to oggle his wares without sounding incriminating?

"Were you trying to sabotage the car?"

France glared at W Germany. "Why the fuck would I harm a masterpiece like that?"

W Germany's jaw dropped. "D-Did you just--"

"Can it," France snapped, cheeks flaming red. Well, it was. the BMW 507 was a work of art and he would've probably gotten one if it wasn't so fucking expensive.

"But--"

"I said shut it."

Silence reigned. France was thankful for that. He didn't really want to be interviewed by anyone at the moment.

"Not a word about this to anyone," France muttered, standing up with a little difficulty, after a few minutes of shared silence. His vision was still swimming as he made his way towards the door, shirt still pressed against his head.

"There's going to be an Autoshow in Frankfurt next week," W Germany piped up just as he was almost near the door.

"I know," France muttered, ignoring W Germany's subtle invitation and slipped out the door.

* * *

  
"You miss him."

England choked on his tea. He coughed and banged his fist against his chest several times until he calmed down, taking in deep breaths. It's been a full month since he'd last seen the frog, and to be honest, it's never been this quiet.

"I'm sure he misses you too," Flying Mint Bunny continued from the top shelf, well out of England's reach.

"I don't. He doesn't," England spat.

"Just because you haven't heard a word from him doesn't mean he doesn't miss you. He's probably waiting for you."

 _He's probably in Dunkirk moping right now for all I care_. He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking about that frog at all.

"You could give him a call."

"Or I could continue life without ever seeing him again. I think I'll do just that."

"It's just one phone call. You'll feel better right after--"

"I'll feel better if you start minding your own business!" he snapped.

That shut the fairy up. Oddly, it didn't give England any peace. All he could think of was France moping in Dunkirk, waiting for him to apologise.

_Why do I have to apologise? He was the one who came up all the way here to insult me!_

_"Whether it's you or it's Allemagne--it makes no difference."_

His fist automatically crumpled the piece of paper under his hand. _I'm the same as the kraut? Well that fucking shite can rot in hell._

He looked down at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand, before realising it was an important document. He frantically tried to straighten it out again.

He groaned seeing how he'd accidentally torn the edges of the document.

"Just give him a call."

" _GET OUT_!" he growled at Flying Mint Bunny who'd just giggled and and disappeared.

* * *

 

England swayed his hips as he worked in his kitchen. Even his boss had noticed the good mood he's been having lately. Well, who wouldn't be in a good mood? His visitor has been making everyday simply lovely.

He smiled brightly as he made fairy floss. It had been wonderful. And although he'd had to save France a number of times from Flying Chocolate Bunny's little mischiefs, France hadn't noticed any hostile forces trying to hurt him as of late, which made him want to stay longer with him.

England blushed. Nobody has ever wanted to stay by his side like that ever. He'd always been so alone. But now, now--everything was different. It was so refreshing seeing France like his cooking, greet him with morning kisses and--and even just smiling at him in general. He never imagined France being so affectionate.

Two arms snaked themselves around England's middle and lips kissed his ear.

"France!" England giggled, leaning back to his touch. Why can't everyday be like this?

"Bonjour, mon ange!" France said, pressing kisses against the right side of his face. "What are you making?"

"Oh just a bit of fairy floss, love," England said, pecking him back on the lips. His eyes were blue again, but he found that he was slowly starting to not mind it as the days passed.

France hummed, looking at his work, still not letting him go. "How about I make dinner tonight?"

England dropped his eggbeater in shock. He looked at France with wide eyes.

"I make great Shepherd's Pies," France told him with a sweet smile. "The other Angleterre can't resist it."

He felt tears start to form in his eyes in happiness. He never thought he'd ever see the day when France would offer to make anything for him. Ever.

"Mon ange?"

"Y-Yes!" England said, wiping at his eyes. "I'd love to try your cooking!"

"Are you that happy?" France asked, chuckling, and wiping at his cheek with his thumb. "You only need to ask, cheri, I will gladly cook anything for you!"

England grinned and pecked him on the lips. "W-Would you like to bake together too?" he asked. He may be pushing it too far, but he wanted to try anyway. He's always dreamed of this.

"I thought you'd never ask," France said, pinching his nose fondly.

England squealed and jumped him. Why couldn't everyday be like this?


	7. Chapter 7

England bit into the croissant, feeling his cheeks flush. He'd eaten them fresh before, when he'd visited a bakery in Paris one time, but to have them done here, in his kitchen, and at this level of skill was just...

"It's the best thing I've ever had," England whimpered, chewing.

France smiled warmly at him, wiping the crumbs off the side of his mouth and licking it with his thumb. "Anything for you, mon ange."

England giggled and took another bite. This France seemed to be good with everything to do with food--he was better than England, in fact. The skill at which he handled the utensils and the reverence in which he handled the food made England’s eyes sparkle in awe. He was obviously far ahead than England in skill. France’d been coaching him patiently on his baking to help him better himself. He'd never imagined that he'd ever have France as a cooking teacher.

He sighed fondly.

"How was your day, mon ange?"

He giggled again. He was starting to get used to having France ask him about his day. "It was good! Eden said I was getting better at work lately and that I seem much happier!" He leaned over and caressed France's cheek. France’s presence had had an effect on his overall mood the past few days. Everyone had been commenting about how he seemed to smile more and how his cakes were even better now than before. "And that's because of you, love."

"You're _perfect_ , mon Ange," France purred, eyelids heavy and just adorable. "Your boss should appreciate you more."

England kissed his forehead. "You're the only one I need, love."

"Me too," France muttered, eyes a little dazed from the food he'd eaten.

* * *

  
There were a lot of people in the exhibit, just as he'd expected. It is the 70th birthday of the motor car, after all. Everywhere he looked, people flitted about excitedly. It was a little harder to properly examine the cars with this many people, but it was also a lot easier not to be seen.

Or so he thought.

Somebody tapped him on the shoulder. _Merde._  Irked, he turned around and saw W Germany, holding a glass of beer and offering it to him, with an awkward smile on his face.

"Non," France replied, putting his hand up.

W Germany shrugged and took a swig of the swill he called beer, and not bothering to leave him the fuck alone. "Did you see the Mercedes line up?"

"Not yet," France said with pursed lips, willing for the idiot to take a hint. Why was he always bothered by people he clearly didn’t want hanging around?

W Germany's eyes seemed to light up at that. "Come on, I'll show you around."

"I'm fine on my own," France said quietly. "I'll find my way around."

"Ja, you could do that," W Germany said, with a strange smile, before taking out keys from his pocket. "But you'll never get to see the engines up close and you'll never get to test drive any of them."

France just looked at him suspiciously. "What's your game?"

W Germany just shrugged. "Do you want to test drive them or not?"

France crossed his arms. W Germany could have a lot of motives, but he didn’t want to dwell on it at the moment. Obviously, he was doing this for political favours. He’ll probably just find out about them eventually. He nodded. "But--"

"Not a word to anyone, I know," W Germany said, turning his back on him and starting to walk. France grudgingly followed.

* * *

  
Something fell when England moved the chair away from his vanity mirror. He crouched down and tried to find where it was. On the floor, at the dusty corner, he found a small unfamiliar red velvet box. He reached for it and examined it. No, this definitely didn't belong to him. So whose was it?

He opened the box and blinked at the ring inside. The diamond twinkled brightly inside. He was no expert jeweller, but there was no mistaking that it was an engagement ring--and an expensive one at that.

_"To think I even bought you a ring too. You should be apologising to me."_

England's face fell as he realised who owned it. Poor France. He realised they were the same in a way--rejected by the people they love. He took out the ring from the box and put it on his finger.

 _Perfect fit_ , he thought, blushing at how beautifully the diamond ring wrapped around his ring finger--like it was meant to be there. Like it was made only for him to wear.

He sighed wistfully as he admired his ringed finger.

He wondered, what would have happened if he and the France he has now were the ones living in the same world? Would they have had half as many wars? Would there have been less hardships? Would their empires have crumbled? Would they have been married much much earlier?

_Would we have both been happier?_

He inhaled. Would Oliver and the other France be happier if they lived in the same world themselves?

 _It's not too late._  He pursed his lips, looking at the ring on his finger. _It's not too late for both of us to be happy. For all of us to be happier._

He looked out the window, where the rain continued unabated.

"Mon ange! The macarons are ready!"

"Coming, love!" he replied, a smile brightening his face. He looked back down at the ring before removing it and putting it back to the box. He stood up. _It's not too late._  He put the box into his vanity mirror's drawer.

_It's not too late._


	8. Chapter 8

"He hasn't been here for a while..." Flying Mint Bunny remarked, watching England continue to embroider, as though he heard nothing. It had been two months since France disastrous visit. Fights between these two nations were common, and Mint wasn't usually concerned about these things, but Arthur had been a shut in ever since. England wasn't usually that upset for long with France--well, at least not so upset that he wouldn't even see the man. In fact, it was the same in France's case (which was really the only reason why Mint had grown close to France in the first place). He would usually be up for another fight with France within a week or two. Now he wasn't. Mint couldn't help but feel a little worried.

"I wonder what he's doing..." Flying Mint Bunny continued to wonder out loud, hoping to get even a small reaction from his friend.

England, however, continued to embroider, not even showing any signs that he's heard him.

"Maybe I should go to him. Something might've happened."

There was a twinge in England's eyebrow, almost imperceptible unless you were watching very closely, but it was definitely there.

"Or you could just call him?" Flying Mint Bunny said, flying over to England and hovering just out of arm's reach.

England merely grunted and scowled at his embroidery.

"The only times he's never able to visit you is when he's at war," he mused aloud, seeing England clench reflexively at his work before continuing, pretending like he didn't hear anything.

Mint sighed and continued to hover overhead. "I know you're worried, England."

England suddenly stood up, surprising Mint. Did his nagging actually work?

The hope in him died when he saw England gather his embroidery set  and dash out of the room, door slamming in his wake.

He sighed, rubbing a paw against his cheek. Sometimes he wondered if the council really knew what they were talking about when they put England in charge of him.

* * *

 

Flying Chocolate Bunny watched from the top shelf as the France from the other world sat on the couch with another fairy cake. He gnashed his teeth in annoyance. It had been two months since that man had taken up residence in England's house--well beyond the twenty four hours England had promised he would stay. The man was already beyond stable. His eyes had lost their focus a long time ago. England had stuffed him with so much food from this world that he wouldn't be able to snap out of it by himself. He would need help with that.

He would have expelled the man himself if he could, but he didn't own the house. Whether this France stays or not was out of his control.

 _At least I got rid of the other one_ , he thought, satisfied with himself as he remembered how their world's France sat through a week's worth of freezing rain in his spell. _Maybe now he'll learn to stay away from England_.

How does one get this new one out of the way? He supposed he could go to the other world and warn Oliver, but there was a chance that that might backfire on him too. The other world's England  _hated_  this France. ( _Just as he should_.) There was a possibility that he might not even want him back.

His rubbed at his left paw. Flying Mint Bunny was fond of him, or at least doesn't hate him. He shook his head. Having his idiot cousin involved in this would only make it worse. He always made everything worse wherever he was.

 _Looks like it's all up to me._  He couldn't go to the council either. He already bribed Loola not to tell on England. If the council finds out that England was harbouring someone from the other world--worse, a country from the other world, England would be severely punished. He can't let that happen. Flying Chocolate Bunny volunteered to be assigned to England after all.

It wouldn't have been so hard if England hadn't put up protection on him. He rubbed at his cheek, frustrated. Why did England like this man so much anyway? What was so good about him? There were plenty of other nations or humans he could fool around with--why was he so fixated on this one in particular? It didn't make any sense.

France sighed and rested his head on the couch, looking up at the ceiling with that dazed gaze of his.  _Odd_. Something else was different about him. Flying Chocolate Bunny squinted at his face.

He swore under his breath.

The man's eyes had turned to pink.  _Just like France_ _'s_. His claws sank into the shelf.

_That's why he didn't want him to leave._

* * *

 

"What do you want?" hissed the witch the beady-eyed witch, Ophelia.

England sighed. He wished just this once that someone would greet him with a simple 'Hello!' or an 'It's so good to see you again!' or an 'I've missed you!', even if it came from a witch.

Well, that's about to change.

"I know we've never really sat down and chatted before, but I need to ask you a question," he said, smile never faltering. "Would you mind if I come in?"

"Yes," Ophelia answered sourly. She was as unpleasant as any old crone, back crouched, hair wiry white, and skin terribly wrinkled like a chewing gum from old age, but she was the witch the fae had entrusted to keep a vast library of spellbooks. He didn't really like talking to her because she was a meanie--almost as mean as the France he had here. (Which is why he already made his exit incantation circle earlier before knocking at her door--just for a quick escape). The library had used to be his, but after getting caught misusing it, the fae had removed it from his custody. He hasn't had them for some 260 years now.

He pouted. You'd think witches and faes would be more respectful to their country.

"Why aren't you asking the fae instead?"

England smiled sheepishly. "I'm still on probation."

She eyed him in annoyance. "Ask your question and leave."

"Well, it's not exactly an easy question."

She started to close the door on him. "Wait!" he yelled, and she stopped and looked at him expectantly, waiting for his question.

"I wanted to ask if you have a spellbook about switching people," he told the witch, his eyes hopeful.

"Switching? Bodies?"

"No, I meant, switching lives. Or places. Permanently."

The witch scowled at him. _Oh butterscotch, I'm losing her._

"I've found a friend from another world. He wishes to stay here."

"Oh," she said, understanding dawning in her eyes and a grin appearing in her face. "He has a counterpart here."

"Yes," England said, nodding.

"And you want to switch them," she said, gesturing her hands in a cross to signify the statement.

"Yes, exactly!" England said, smiling widely.

"I refuse," Ophelia snapped, her mouth going back into a frown.

England's smile sank as well. "B-But--"

"You're up to your old tricks again," she said, eyeing him suspiciously. "The fae will be after my head if they find out I've helped you."

England looked at her earnestly. "But I need it! It will be for everyone's good. You see, this friend is happy here, very happy! And it makes me happy too! His counterpart, on the other hand, hates it here and he's always so glum. He always says that he wished he could disappear from here! I thought that if they could switch--"

"I refuse," she repeated, firmer this time and started to close the door again.

England held the door open with his hand. "Please!" he begged.

"Go ask Nessy or the mermaids! I won't be putting my neck on the line for you!" She tried to push the door close with her weight this time, but she was hardly heavy enough to even cause a strain on England's arm.

"The last time I asked Nessy about anything, she tried to eat me!" he whined. "And the mermaids laughed at me and tried to drown me!"

"Not my problem," she grunted, trying her hardest to close the door. Seeing that he wouldn't yield, she glared at him.

England pouted at her.

"I'm not Flying Chocolate Bunny," she said, deadpanned. "That doesn't work on me."

"Please!" England implored her, his hands clasped together, and keeping the door open with his shoulder. "It's for a good cause! It could even mean no more wars for me!"

The witch looked at him, skeptical. "Who is this friend?"

"France," England said, with an uneasy smile.

The witch's eyes widened. "You mean that unpleasant piece of trash?"

"Yes!" He wouldn't say piece of trash, mostly because that would be very rude, but now was not the time for an argument.

"Are you insane?" she scolded him. "Magic of this degree isn't simple!"

"I know, that's why I'm asking for your help!" England pleaded. "I just need the spellbook and I'll be out of your hair!"

"And what does the other England think of all this?"

England bit his lip. He hasn't actually asked his counterpart about it yet. He thought that maybe if he had the spell in hand, he'd make a more persuasive proposal. He didn't really think the other would refuse, after all, doesn't he hate his France? "He says he wished the other France would disappear from their world."

"Then that means this France is even worse!"

"No!" cried England. "No! It's because he's different from me. The other me is grumpier and doesn't like hugs and kisses. This France is just too affectionate and sweet and charming and kind..."

The witch looked at him suspiciously.

"Please," England implored. "Please."

"This could get me in trouble with the fae," she said warily.

"You're not giving it to me for free!" England exclaimed, and then took out a satin bag. "I brought you a very rare ingredient for potions!"

"What is it?" she asked, curious.

England untied the drawstring and showed her the other England's scone.

The witch blinked at it first, and then sniffed it. "This is very powerful," the witch said, surprised. "And rare. I've never seen one like this before. Where did you get this?"

"I have my ways," he said quietly. It wouldn't do well to expose his supply chain.

"One of these can ward off even dragons," she whispered, awed.

England nodded, hopeful. "Yes. And you can have it. All I need is the spellbook. You're not liable for anything!"

The witch seemed to hesitate, looking longingly at the scone, before giving in. "Wait here."

He squealed in triumph as he waited for the witch outside her door. With this, he can finally keep France here for much much longer.

The witch came back and handed him the spellbook before greedily taking the scone from his hand and shutting the door to his face.

England didn't mind. He smiled at the dusty tome and hugged it. He stepped back onto the circle he had created earlier and was soon transported back onto his front porch in a puff of black smoke. Still grinning, he walked up to his door and rang the doorbell.

The door opened. "Bienvenue, mon chou!" France greeted him, embracing him, and taking him inside, closing the door behind them with a swing of his hips.

England embraced him back, taking in his sweet scent of lilies and giggling.

"Where have you been? I missed you!" the other man said, kissing him on the nose.

He cringed his nose and giggled. "Around," he said. He peered into those dreamy sapphire eyes fondly. Yes, everything is perfect now. Warm, cozy, and just perfect. "France?"

"Oui?"

"Are you happy here?"

France pecked him on the lips. "The happiest," he whispered against his mouth.

England grinned, elated. "Then would you stay?"

"Of course, mon chou."

Yes. It's perfect.


	9. Chapter 9

England shuffled to his seat as the NATO meeting was about to start. It was too bloody cold to even have a meeting, in his opinion. The bloody Soviet Union wouldn't dare to attack in December.

"Right, is everybody here?" America said, taking center stage.

The others grumbled in response.

"I know you're all getting excited about the holidays. But this is important too, you know."

"Do you really think the Soviet Union is stupid enough to attack at winter?" England snapped.

"But they have!" America exclaimed.

"Amerique, calm down," Belgium implored. "We don't have proof yet."

"Oh come on!" America yelled, throwing his hands up. "It's kidnapping! It's right up his alley!"

"Kidnapping?" England asked.

"There was no ransom note," Luxembourg said calmly.

"Of course there wouldn't be a ransom note!" America retorted. "He wants allies, not money! He wants to convert him into an evil commie just like him!"

"Who the bloody hell are you talking about?" England yelled.

The others in the room looked at him as though he were crazy.

"France!" America answered him, annoyed. "Get your head in the game, mom. This is no time to lose your head."

"what are you talking about?" England said, frowning.

"Francia's missing, idiota," S. Italy sneered at him.

"Wot?"

"How could you not know?" Belgium asked him. "He's been missing for weeks."

"Maybe he's at Ingiltere's house," Turkey said, crossing his arms.

"He's not at my house," England snapped at him. France was missing? He looked around the room and realized that France wasn't present at the meeting.

"He's not at his house," Norway said, deadpanned.

"How do you know?" Denmark jeered.

Norway just gave him a glare.

"How come I acknowledge he is gone but Ingiltera doesn't? He's closer."

"Maybe he did kidnap him," S Italy quipped.

"You can't just accuse him--"

"Stop! We're not here to fight amongst each other!" someone exclaimed, as though on the verge of crying, although no one was sure who did.

"ALL RIGHT EVERYONE SHUT UP!" America bellowed. "Canada's right. We're not supposed to fight against each other!"

"Who?" The other member-states asked among themselves.

"We're supposed to make a reconnaisance plan to get him back."

"You don't even know where he is," Portugal grumbled.

"You bet your ass I do! The commie's got him!"

"Amerique, we can't just barge into the Soviet Union without proof!" Belgium rebutted. "We could trigger another World War!"

"Heck, if that fat asshole wants to go for it, I ain't backing down! He started it when he kidnapped France!"

"We have no proof," England said, finding his voice. "We can't just start a war over specualtion!" _And for France of all people._  "Where was he last?"

"Well," Luxembourg said, "He was at my house last August to talk about trade agreements. As far as I know, he was able to go back home safely. That's the latest trip he made from the records his government has given us."

England's brows knitted. "He came to my house this September."

Immediately, there was an uproar.

"I was right!" Turkey exclaimed triumphantly.

"Why isn't it in the records?"

"Why would you kidnap him?" the Netherlands asked.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" America bellowed again, banging his gavel.

Everybody quieted down, but England knew they were suspicious of him.

"Inglaterra, what was he doing at your house?" Portugal asked.

"He came to--" England snapped his mouth shut and reddened. he can't tell them that he proposed to him! He would never hear the end of it.

The others leaned in, looking at him expectantly.

"He c-came to discuss the Suez Canal trouble," he spat at them. "As far as I know, he went back home immediately."

"So the Soviet Union must've kidnapped him from your place!" America growled. "That fat commie's done it this time."

"Did you see Sovietiki Enosi anywhere near your home?" Greece asked.

"No!" England said. he was highly doubtful that Russia would be bold enough to try kidnapping at his place. This was all just ridiculous.

"We have to find more evidence. Until then, I think we should wait," Luxembourg muttered.

"No way," America said, still angry. "What if he turns him into one of those commie assholes?"

"Why would he even kidnap Francia? That'll just achieve the opposite!"

"It's because we got West Germany in the group and he doesn't like that because it throws him off his groove! Come on, it's so obvious!"

"Amerika, I really think--"

"WE GOTTA ATTACK WHILE THE IRON IS STILL HOT!"

England zoned them all out as he tried to think. Where could France have disappeared to and why didn't he notice anything? No wonder it's been so peaceful for the past couple of weeks.

A hand came on his shoulder and he turned around to see Norway.

"We have to talk," he said in a serious tone. "Let's go outside."

England raised a brow at him as he sneaked out of the room. He decided to follow. The other member-states were too busy to notice them anyway.

As soon as they were walking down the hallway, England asked him, "What's going on?"

"I'm not really sure," Norway said, still walking. "But...a few months ago, I felt some disturbances."

England scowled. "What's that got to do with me?"

"Magical disturbances," Norway said, glancing at him.

He frowned.

"I'd thought it was from the fjords, but the troll told me it probably came from your place."

His brows jumped. Was there a disturbance?

"What were you up to?"

"I wasn't up to anything at--" He stopped, and then looked at Norway, wide-eyed. _Oliver._

Norway raised his brows at him too.

"It was a minor interdimensional travel," England explained. "You shouldn't be feeling it from your place."

"You were travelling?"

"N-No, I had a visitor."

Norway just looked at him. "I don't mean to pry, but from that distance, whoever your visitor is probably used your Stonehenge."

England scoffed. "Why would he need that? He's perfectly capable of travelling without it."

"Visitors aren't allowed to carry enough power to make a disturbance in the Auroras. It's the only explanation I can think of."

England shook his head. "Regardless of whether he used the Stonehenge, what does it matter?"

"I think there may be a relation with Frankrike's disappearance."

"Don't be ridiculous," England snorted.

But Norway looked serious. "Ask your gatekeeper. It wouldn't do any harm to find out. You have a duty to find out what's going on anyway. If I'm wrong, then I'm wrong."

England frowned at Norway. "Fine," he conceded. "I will."

* * *

  
England trudged up to the Stonehenge, shivering. There was no moon tonight, and there was a bit of snowfall. This was a terrible time to go to the place, but he had to. He could never summon the gatekeeper from his house.

It was his duty to know what goes in and out of his country or through his gate. It was just a good thing the others were able to convince America to wait a little more for France to appear. They could pretty much have World War 3 in their hands if this goes on for too long.

He heard hooves clacking in some patch of hardened snow.

"Gatekeeper," he panted, as he walked. He stopped right in front of a majestic white unicorn who was almost camouflaging in the snow.

"England," the unicorn inclined his head to acknowledge him. "What brings you here on this cold night?"

He exhaled, seeing steam coming out of his mouth because of the chill. "I was told that this Henge has been used recently."

The unicorn neighed. "Yes."

England blinked at him, surprised. Norway had been right. "When?"

"Several moons ago," the unicorn replied.

"By whom?" this time, England was starting to panic. What else had Norway been right about?

"By the one with your face," the gatekeeper replied.

England gnashed his teeth. It's okay, he could've gone back by himself. "Was he with anyone?"

The unicorn circled him. "Yes."

"What did they look like?"

"A brown hare."

England sighed in relief. That was just Flying Chocolate Bunny.

"Oh, and the child from across the sea."

England blinked at the gatekeeper slowly. _Bloody buggering bollocks_.

* * *

  
England brushed the hair away from a sleeping France's face. He smiled warmly at the man whose head was on his lap. They were in the living room, and although it wasn't an ideal place to sleep in, he decided that it didn't matter. It was warm and cozy, and that's all he knew.

France unconsciously leaned into his touch and England's breath hitched. Blush spread in his cheeks. He's never had anyone this affectionate, this loving before. It's quite nice.

"You know," he said softly to his sleeping guest. "The France across the Channel doesn't like my touch." He never really did. Their past had only been nothing but to relieve himself. "He never smiled at me or been really nice to me. He doesn't care at all."

His guest continued to sleep on, deaf to his little monologue.

"I've always been a joke to him," England continued, frowning a little. "Even when I give him sweets, he never catches the happy mood from them. He just stays sour and mean." He caressed the other's cheek. "You're the same too, aren't you? With the other England?" He glanced at the tome he left on top of the table. "The warding spell in his food doesn't affect you at all. Just like my France isn't affected by my accidental mood spells."

France stirred a little in his lap and went back to his peaceful slumber.

England smiled at him lovingly. "Don't worry, love. I won't push you away like he did." He leaned and gave his guest a small kiss on the forehead. The sleeping man sighed in contentment, making the host smile. "And you won't push me away too, right?"

* * *

  
England slammed the front door and sprinted up the staircase.

"England! What's the rush?" Flying Mint Bunny giggled, circling around his head.

"I don't have time," England said, ducking out of the way and lunging into his room. "We have to go to Oliver's world."

"So soon?" Flying Mint Bunny asked, hovering at England's door.

"He has France and I have to get that frog back as soon as possible," England explained, rummaging through his closet.

Flying Mint Bunny sat on the bed. "Why did he take France?"

"I don't know," England said, changing his clothes. "But Oliver's a reasonable fellow. I'm sure he'll hand him back without any problems."

"Then why are you so worried?" Flying Mint Bunny asked.

"Because if I'm right, France has probably been there for more than thirty days, and you know how dangerous that is," he said, zipping up his pants and pocketing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He hesitated for a moment and then pocketed a revolver. It was better to be safe then sorry. _Why is it that **I**  always have to come save your slimy arse?!_ He took a chalk out from his drawer.

"Oliver won't let anything happen, I'm sure."

"Oliver is bloody forgetful and careless," England reminded him, as he drew symbols on his bedroom floor as quickly as he can out of memory alone.

"Do you still have enough magic?"

"I didn't use magic to go to the Henge. I should still have more than enough," England said, finishing the incantation and making a mental checklist. "How about you?" He needed Flying Mint Bunny as an extra battery cell in case he runs out.

"I'm always full."

England nodded. "All right. Are you ready?"

Flying Mint Bunny went to his shoulder. "Ready."

The drawing on the floor glowed and they disappeared in a puff of white smoke.


	10. Chapter 10

England landed softly on his counterpart's front porch, holding Flying Mint Bunny on his shoulder. "Are you all right?" he muttered. Oliver should have sensed them there by now.  
  
His counterpart's yard was covered with a thin layer of snow, and there were several Christmas decorations littering it.  
  
"Yes," Flying Mint Bunny muttered. "England, remember to keep your temper cool."  
  
He scowled at his companion. "I know--"  
  
"We're in his territory," the other reminded him. "And he's much more powerful here. We don't want him upset."  
  
" _I know._  I don't think he's ever been angry at all so there's no worries there."  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of."  
  
The door opened, and upon seeing him, his counterpart embraced him immediately, with England stiffening at the contact. "Oliver! What a surprise! It's good to see you here! You haven't visited for thirty years!"   
  
England merely patted him on the back, hearing music wafting from inside the house.  
  
 _And if the sandman brought me dreams of you~_  
  
His counterpart released him. "And you brought Flying Mint Bunny with you! Come in, come in!" he said, leading him in by the hand.  
  
 _I'd want to sleep my whole life through~_  
  
England entered, scowl on his face. Upon walking into the living room, he saw that it had changed after thirty years. The other had obviously done some redecorating to make his house much more ornate and smell like freshly baked cakes. Thankfully it was much warmer inside. He started to loosen his scarf and remove his jacket.  
  
 _You brought a new love to me~_  
  
"Please, take a seat," the other said as he went into the direction of where England remembers used to be the kitchen.  
  
England sat down on the new couch, looking around at the living room. There was already a cup of tea set out for him on the tea table. Had he been expecting him here? England sniffed at it and cringed his nose. No, it was obviously set out for himself.  
  
 _I know that I'm the slave, you're the queen~  
Still you can understand that underneath it all~_  
  
"Wow this place has changed!" Flying Mint Bunny squealed as he zoomed around the living room.  
  
"I've redecorated since the last time you were here," the other said from the kitchen. "Wars can make such a mess of your house, you see."  
  
England crossed his arms across his chest and grunted. Yes. Their worlds are parallels, after all. Whatever war they have back in their world should have happened here as well.  
  
 _If I could hurry home to you~  
You brought a new kind of love to me~_  
  
The other England emerged with a tray of cupcakes and an extra cup. He noticed that he was wearing a thick orange turtleneck, which looked a little odd, but then again he never visited the old chap during winter. "Fairy cake?"  
  
England merely scowled. "You know I'm not supposed to eat here."  
  
The other England blushed, embarrassed. "Oh, the Persephone law, right." He set the tray down and sat opposite to him. The music changed and his counterpart immediately perked up.  
  
 _There was a boy~  
A very strange enchanted boy~_  
  
"Oh I  _love_  this song. Will you sing with me, Oliver?"  
  
 _They say he wandered very far, very far, over land and sea~_  
  
"Sing with you?" Flying Mint Bunny flew back into England's arms, watching the exchange.  
  
The other England nodded eagerly, as though he really expected England to sing along with him.  
  
 _A little shy~~~and sad of eye~_  
  
It took a while before England realised that his host was serious. "I'd rather not, thank you."  
  
 _But very wise~~~was he~_  
  
The other England pouted, but much to England's horror, started singing along in a very flamboyant fashion: " _And then one day~~~a magic day~~he passed my way, and while we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me~~~~~_ "  
  
England cleared his throat. "Right, well, I--"  
  
Oliver shushed him excitedly. "This is the best part!" he whispered, putting a finger on his lips.  
  
England scowled.  
  
" _The greatest thing~~~you'll ever learn_ ," his reflection swooned like a teenaged girl, " _is just to love~~~~and be loved~~in return~~~~_ "  
  
"Yay!" Flying Mint Bunny cheered. England applauded him too, if only to be polite.

The other England blushed profusely. "Thank you, thank you," he gushed. "I just couldn't help myself. America does have some great songs, doesn't he? Although I'm not quite sold with that Presley fellow so much. His music is so strange."  
  
"Quite," England said, not really knowing what to say. He actually quite likes Presley.  
  
The other England sighed again--or rather, swooned. His blush never wavered. "Nature Boy has always had a special place in my heart," he said, sipping his tea. "Especially now that I know someone who resembles the song so well. It's like the song is written for him."  
  
England raised a brow at him.  
  
The other England sighed, like a lovesick teenager, still mouthing the rest of the song as it was finishing.  
  
England cleared his throat again. "Yes. Well. I have something to talk to you about."  
  
"It's so much like France," The other England swooned, not hearing him, apparently.  
  
England's brows met in annoyance. "Yes. About that. Where's France?"  
  
"Hmmmm? Across the Channel."  
  
"I'm not playing games, Oliver, you know who I mean."  
  
The other pouted. "I thought the visitor gets to be called Oliver. We agreed under the Stonehenge!"  
  
"You've forfieted that right the moment you kidnapped France."  
  
"England!" Flying Mint Bunny groaned from his lap.  
  
The other had the gall to look outraged. "I didn't kidnap him! He is my visitor. He came here willingly!"  
  
"Bollocks," England swore.  
  
The other's face instantly darkened. "Language," he growled.  
  
 _Just remember darling all the while~_  
  
England was a little bit perturbed at his host's unusual expression. Nonetheless put on a brave face. "Where is he?"  
  
 _You belong to me~_  
  
"He's upstairs," the other said, back to normal, sipping his tea. "In the shower."  
  
"How long has he been here?"  
  
The other England pursed his lips and started to count silently with his fingers. "Three months, I think."  
  
"You let him stay here for three months?!"  
  
"Yes," the other England said, nodding and smiling. "He quite likes it here. I think he means to stay."  
  
"He can't stay here," England said, scowling.  
  
"Why not?" the other asked. "He likes it here. God knows it's not like you want him back in your world, right?"  
  
 _Just remember when a dream appears~_  
  
He clenched his fist on his lap. "He doesn't belong here. He came from my world and that is where he is designated to stay, regardless of my wishes. It's the right thing to do."  
  
 _You belong to me~_  
  
"Oh Oliver," said the other, chuckling. "We both know you've been tinkering enough with forbidden magic to know that you don't care at all about righteousness. Remember? Ireland 1692?"  
  
England scowled at that. He did have a dubious track record. "You've brought an intruder to your world. You know of the consequences. He must be removed at once."  
  
 _I'll be so alone without you~_  
  
"Ah, but I brought him here as a guest," the other England said, winking. "Kidnapping would have caused him great harm, but as a guest, he is prefectly safe. It is the same loophole we've both used to conduct our exchanges for centuries."  
  
 _Maybe you'll be lonesome too~and blue~_  
  
England gaped at him. Well...yes, that was true. The arrangement would grant him a sort of a tourist visa in effect, as long as France doesn't go out of the other England's house, he's safe. Damn.  
  
The other England flashed him a triumphant smile. "Besides, I've grown rather fond of him."  
  
"You can't keep him here," England said, brows knitting, angry. "What about the other France?"  
  
"That's what I've been meaning to speak to you about," the other England said leaning over a bit and placing an open tome onto his lap. "You see, our France here is...well...a glum sort of chap. And I believe he'll be much happier in your world."  
  
England gaped at him dumbly. "Wot?"  
  
"It's a switching spell!" Flying Mint Bunny exclaimed, reading the opened tome. England looked down at the tome on his lap.

"That's right! I've found the perfect spell! It's a bit complicated, but I think with the two of us working on it, it's quite doable," the other England squeaked excitedly. "All we need is consent from both parties and our magic combined! And it would come out  _seamless_! Only the two of us would know what happened after it's done!"  
  
 _Just remember till you're home again~_  
  
England continued to look at the spellbook dumbly, reading absolutely nothing because he was too busy pushing away the thought that kept nagging him:  _France is **mine**. You can't have him_.  
  
 _You belong to me~_  
  
"Wouldn't it be nice? An exchange! Our France hates going out of the house! He wouldn't even bother you at all. Everybody wins!"  
  
"Are you daft?" England snarled, finally snapping out of his shock.  
  
The other England merely looked at him, surprised by his reaction. "You don't like the idea?"  
  
"Y-You can't just switch the two Frances!" England stammered. "That's insane!"  
  
The other pouted. "Well, my France seems to like the idea."  
  
"Wot?" England exclaimed, outraged. "Why would he agree if he's never even been in our world?"  
  
"Oh, no, I'm not talking about that France. I'm talking about  _my_  France. The one upstairs. I haven't asked our France yet."  
  
England blinked at him. "He's not your France," he hissed.  
  
 _I'll be so alone and without you~_  
  
The other England flinched. "Well, he said he is. And he said I'm his England."  
  
England fumed. This is ridiculous. "You're violating interdimensional law."  
  
The other England's brows knitted together in confusion. "Are you sure? I've read that if the person has consent--"  
  
"I don't care if he has consent!" England hissed, feeling his hands shake. "He doesn't belong here."  
  
It was the host's turn to blink at him dumbly. "But he's so happy here."  
  
"That doesn't matter!" England yelled, standing up, Flying Mint Bunny carrying the tome with him and still reading it.  
  
"On the contrary, it does," the other England said, taking a cupcake. "My France says so at least."  
  
 _But remember, darling, till you're home again~_  
  
"He's not in the right state of mind."  
  
"Oh? He seems fine."  
  
 _You~~~belong~~to me~~~_  
  
England was about to argue with him, when he heard footsteps along the stairs. He looked up to see France practically skipping down the staircase in nothing but a satin purple bathrobe. "Bonjour Angleterre!" he sang, as he skipped towards the other England and gave him a peck on the cheek.  
  
 _You know you've completely~  
Stolen my heart~_  
  
England's eye twitched.  
  
"Good morning France," the other England said, with a sickening sweet smile on his face as he kissed France back.  
  
France smiled back with the same sickeningly sweet smile and caresssed his cheek fondly, completely ignoring England who was glaring daggers at him.  
  
 _Toujours, wondering what to do~_  
  
He cleared his throat in an effort to be recognized by the one he was supposedly saving, but France doesn't seem to even know he's there at all.  
  
"France, darling, we have a visitor," the other England said.  
  
France finally turned to him, seemingly in a blissful daze, giggled and waved. "Salut."  
  
 _My love for you is tres tres fort~_  
  
"He's scary," Flying Mint Bunny commented from his perch, on the bookshelf.  
  
England's brows rose. "What happened to him?"  
  
"Oh he's just happy," the other England said, giggling. Then he turned to France and caressed his cheek. " _Wish my french were good enough~I'd tell you so much more~_ "  
  
England's eye twitched at the fact that his counterpart had started singing again. The man never sang when he visited.  
  
" _But I hope that you compree~~~_ " France started singing too, holding the other's hands in his. " _All the things you mean to me~~_ "  
  
"Oliver!" England scolded before they could sing the next part, making his host jump.  
  
 _Darling, je vous aime beaucoup~  
I love you, yes I do~_  
  
"Oh dear me, so sorry old chap," his reflection said, blushing profusely, before turning back to France. "France, poppet, you should get dressed. You might catch a cold."  
  
France giggled again. It was annoying. "D'accord, mon coeur," he said before leaning down and kissing the other England on the lips. Then he stood up and trotted up the stairs.

England's teeth gnashed in fury, eyes trailing France.  
  
 _Darling, je vous aime beaucoup~  
I love you, yes I do~_  
  
"Isn't he just sweet?" the other England said, giddy. "He's nothing like the France here. My new France is so affectionate and kind."  
  
"What have you done to him?" England asked, voice surprisingly calm.  
  
"Nothing, really," the other England said, sipping his tea. "Well, maybe he got a little bit of fae dust from eating my fairy cakes, but we've both had a track record of accidentally magicking our food, yes? I believe he's just naturally like that. If anything, my magic just enhances mood." He sighed, looking longingly at the staircase. "He's so wonderful. The France here would never be like that. I've never met anyone like him here. Did you know he's brilliant in the kitchen?"  
  
"Yes," England said, and then shook his head. "You fed him?!"  
  
"Yes, I didn't really see any harm in--"  
  
"Are you mad? What are you planning to do, keep him here as a pet against his will?"  
  
"A  _guest_. And I'm not keeping him here against his will. If he says he wants to go, then I'll let him go freely."   
  
"You can't keep France here like some kind of prisoner. He could die!"  
  
"I've told you, he is a  _guest_! If he stays here as a guest, the hostile forces can't get to him."  
  
"Do you even realise what you're doing?"  
  
"Yes, I am entertaining a guest like a proper gentleman," he retorted flippantly.  
  
"You've been entertaining him for three bloody months! He doesn't qualify as a visitor anymo..." England's heated reply lost steam as he realised something.  
  
"Oliver?" the other asked, quirking a brow, and putting his cup down on the teatable.  
  
England lunged at him and yanked his turtleneck down a notch. Hickeys littered the other's neck. England felt his blood boil.  
  
The red-faced host pried his hands away from his clothes. "Do you mind? You're fraying it! France chose this for me."  
  
 _Esgourdez rien qu’un instant~_  
  
"You  _slept_  with him?" England all but snarled.  
  
"Calm down, Oliver--"  
  
"YOU.  _SLEPT._  WITH.  _HIM._ "  
  
"Yes!" the other England said, blushing, and still holding his wrists to prevent him from clawing at his cotton candy pink face. "Gosh. It's rude to pry into one's personal life, don't you think?"  
  
"You're keeping him here as your personal sex slave!"  
  
"Now that's just rude, Oliver. Not to mention ridiculous."  
  
"Give him back," England growled.  
  
The other England puffed out his cheeks. "No."  
  
"Mon ange!" France said, running back down the stairs, dressed in the frilliest most ridiculous purple shirt he'd seen. He stopped right in front of them, as if not seeing that England was trying to attack his counterpart. "Can we make some eclairs later?"  
  
 _Mais n’oubliez pas~_  
  
"Of course, darling!" the other England said, smiling back at him.  
  
 _Dans la vie on est peau d’balle~  
Quand notre cœur est a clou~_  
  
England wrenched his hand away from the grip and marched towards France and grabbed his wrist. "That's it. We're going home." Much to his surprise, France didn't resist him dragging him towards the door. He didn't even seem to realise what's going on.  
  
The other England merely followed him quietly behind them, not at all keen on stopping him. England should've realised something was wrong by then.  
  
He stepped out of the front door, but was stopped by something on his way out. He looked back behind him and saw France blocked by some sort of barrier from getting out of the house. England's eyes widened.  
  
 _Sans amour on n’est rien de tout~  
Sans amour on n’est rien de tout~_  
  
"You don't have consent," the other England whispered to him, wide-eyed, like a child sharing a secret.  
  
England tried to pull him with greater force, but France was stuck. Flying Mint Bunny tried pushing against his stomach in futility. "I'll have you know I can magic this barrier away," he threatened.  
  
"Can you?" his counterpart asked, looking curious. "Don't forget, in this world, you're weaker."  
  
"You can't do this, Oliver!" England snapped, not letting go of France.  
  
"But France doesn't want to go," he said, shrugging. "He leaves when he wants to."  
  
England looked back at France. "France. You blasted frog, snap out of it!"

France merely looked at him, and then smiled. "It was nice meeting you, Oliver," he said with a smile, and then wrenched his wrist away from England.  
  
 _Sans amour on n’est rien de tout~  
Sans amour on n’est rien de tout~_  
  
England fell on his back on the walkway, the back of his head hitting the ice-covered cobblestone. Flying Mint Bunny tumbled away a little farther.  
  
"Terribly sorry about that, Oliver," his counterpart said, crouching down over him, and genuinely looking sorry. "He has made his choice."  
  
"You can't do this," England mumbled. Flying Mint Bunny went into his field of vision.  
  
"He's happier here," he said, brushing the hair from his forehead. "I'm happier with him here."  
  
"You can't," he groaned. His counterpart stood up and went inside.  
  
 _Qui vous dit en vous quittant,  
Aimez vous~~~!_  
  
The door slammed shut.


	11. Chapter 11

When England came to, he was in a hallway of what seemed like a dingy apartment building. He sat up with a groan.  
  
"England! I'm glad you're back," Flying Mint Bunny squeaked as he hovered in front of him. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Where am I?"  
  
"In Paris."  
  
England's eyes widened. "Why am I in Paris?"  
  
Flying Mint Bunny landed on his lap. "From what I've read from that spellbook Oliver tried to show you, there has to be one magical representative from each world and the consent of whoever's being switched." He looked at him earnestly. "I thought that maybe we should try talking the other France out of it. Or at least have him convince Oliver that it's a bad idea?"  
  
England scrubbed his face with his hand tiredly. "You couldn't wait for me to recuperate there first before bringing me here?"  
  
"You could have frozen!"  
  
England held his head and licked his lips. There was a dull throb at the back of his head. "You couldn't bring me to the fae instead? I'm sure they can stop Oliver."  
  
"They could," his companion said. "But that will take more time because they'd deliberate first."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?" he hissed. "Oliver's about to use a forbidden spell!"  
  
"About that," Flying Mint Bunny said sheepishly. "It's...well...it's...not  _entirely_  forbidden..."  
  
"Wot?"  
  
"See, it's an exile spell that only the fae are supposed to use," Flying Mint Bunny explained quickly. "But...for some reason, they just decided to hide it instead."  
  
He merely looked at the fairy dumbly.  
  
"It's doesn't qualify as a forbidden spell although it  _should_ ," he said. "See, if the only people who remember the spell taking place are the two casters, then there would be no one to punish them, right?"  
  
England's eyes widened. "You're joking."  
  
"No I'm not. It's been one of the problem spells for centuries."  
  
His brows knit together. "How did you know all that about the spell?"  
  
Flying Mint Bunny laughed uneasily. "There's a mark on the page that only fairies can see. I don't think Oliver knows the full details though. But he probably already figured out that he can get away with it."  
  
"Then it's a completely harmless spell?"  
  
"Well, no. The casters and the subjects have to pay for it," Flying Mint Bunny answered. "Both human casters would have half of their magical strength sealed away permanently, to keep them from attempting the spell again. The subjects would forget absolutely everything that happened before the spell took place. They would have artificial memories to make it seamless."  
  
"Half!" England exclaimed, hearing the only thing important to him in the explanation.  
  
"Well, in your case, since you're not really human, I'd say a quarter."  
  
"Like hell I'll pay for that just so France can stay here!"  
  
"That's why you need to get help from the France here. I think he's the only one who can help you."  
  
England scowled at him. "How did you get me here?"  
  
"Magic. It's not like I can hail a cab."  
  
"We're supposed to conserve energy!" he groaned.  
  
"Sorry," Flying Mint Bunny said sheepishly. "If I let you stay there, nothing would have happened. I think you should be more worried about the time constraint than our magic supply right now."  
  
England stood up, blinking the sleep away from his eyes. Flying Mint Bunny was right. England was no longer in the safe zone now that he was outside of this world's England.  
  
He felt a slight buzzing in his head. "How long have I been out?"  
  
"Just half an hour," Flying Mint Bunny said. "If there's anyone who can help us, it's the France from this world."  
  
He groaned. Great, he had to talk to another great frog who he doesn't even know.  
  
"England, this is the right thing to do."  
  
"I doubt that," he mumbled sourly. "Where is this France?"  
  
"At the apartment behind you."  
  
England turned around to see a cream coloured door covered in some brownish rust stains with a bronze plate that read 714.  
  
"It's for the best," Flying Mint Bunny said, landing on his shoulder and reading his mind accurately. "The earlier we go home the better."  
  
England gnashed his teeth and nodded, knocking on the door.  
  
Nobody answered.  
  
"Are you sure you have the right address?"  
  
"Yes," Flying Mint Bunny said earnestly. "Try the doorknob."

England rolled his eyes and tried the dirty doorknob. To his surprise, the door opened. And out came clouds of cigarette smoke. He felt Flying Mint Bunny fly away from his shoulder; cigarette smoke always did deplete his magic some.  
  
"Good lord," England muttered, coughing, but he stepped in. "France?"  
  
No answer. Was this really his home?  
  
"Flying Mint Bunny, are you sure--"  
  
"Bonjour," a voice drawled somewhere from within the room, but England couldn't see.  
  
"France? Where are you?"  
  
He heard footsteps, but he can't pinpoint where they're coming from.  
  
"So you've finally come for a visit, hmmm?"  
  
England coughed and tried to wave the smoke away from his eyes. "Look, I know this sounds crazy but--"  
  
Something sharp and long came right at England, barely missing his ear and implanting into the wall.  
  
England held his breath, eyes wide as he tried the see his attacker. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!"  
  
The blade moved towards his neck but England ducked in time before it decapitated him. "The welcoming ceremony," the man growled from somewhere within the haze of smoke.  
  
England scrambled away from where he was and crouched low for better visibility. He contemplated using his revolver, but the other France would probably refuse helping them if he shot him in the kneecap.  
  
"Oh, you've learnt a new trick."  
  
"How can you even see me in this smoke, you bastard?" England grumbled and rolled away just in time from a blade aim at his chest.  
  
"You're different today."  
  
"That's what I've been trying to--" England was cut off as he dodged another strike aimed at his face. "Will you stop for one bleeding moment and let me speak?"  
  
"You're swearing a lot today too. I don't think I've ever heard you talk like that before."  
  
"That's what I'm trying to--"  
  
The blade came down and almost cut him at the crotch.  
  
"Jesus  _Christ_ ," England swore scrambling out of the way. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"  
  
"Oh come now, it's like you don't expect this." The blade came down again, this time narrowly missing his left knee. "After you left me out in the freezing rain for a week, I'd have expected it to be logical. You used to be a lot smarter than that."  
  
"Say that to my face when I don't have a handicap, you fucking arse," England snarled, desperately trying to locate his opponent.  
  
The footsteps stopped. "You're definitely in a very bad mood today."  
  
England shut his mouth so the other France couldn't locate him.  
  
"Keeping quiet doesn't really help you," the other man said. "It would've helped you before, but not in this situation."  
  
England kept his mouth resolutely shut. He's bound to find him.  
  
Suddenly, a hand came smacking right at his chest and pinning him on the ground, letting his poor injured head smack against the floor again. He groaned. Could this day get any worse?  
  
"You look different," the other France said. His face was visible now. He looked exactly like France except he was a lot scruffier, his hair was lighter, his eyes were  _pink_  and he looked like he could use a few nights of sleep. He also had a rapier in his hand. "Did you change your hair and eye colour?"  
  
"That's because I'm not the England you know, you fucking idiot!" England snarled, feeling his head throb. At least he didn't hit the floor as hard this time.  
  
France's brows rose. The surroundings started to clear of the cigarette smoke, and England could see a crow lifting up one of the ratty windows to let the smoke out. "No. You're definitely not him." He didn't release him however. "So what are you? And tell me why I shouldn't kill you anyway."

"I'm England from another world. I'm here to help you. Now get the fuck off of me."  
  
The France gave him a patronising smile. "Is this one of Angleterre's magic tricks?" he placed the rapier's blade against his throat. "How do I know you're not Angleterre in disguise?"  
  
"No, and if he'd make a disguise, he wouldn't wear one that looks too much like himself, would he?" England growled. Regeneration was harder in this world for him, so dying might just be a tad bit inconvenient. He had to prove himself. "Fuck, fucking, arse, buggering bollocks, shit, damn, fuckery."  
  
This scruffy France raised his brows again, amused. "Impressive," he mused. "And what kind of help are you offering?"  
  
"The England you know wants to replace you with the France from my world."  
  
At this, France's smile dropped. He got off of England and he sat up, surprised that this France let him go that easily.  
  
"Sounds like him all right," France muttered, walking to his ratty dining table and taking a swig from his bottle of white wine.  
  
"You have to convince him to let the other France go."  
  
The other France turned around to look at him. "I thought  _you_  were helping  _me_?"  
  
"I've already helped you by telling you about the situation."  
  
The other looked at him with pursed lips. "I should kill you."  
  
"Fuck off," England snarled. "The other sodding England won't bloody listen to me and it's up to you to talk to him."  
  
He took another swig of his wine, licked his lips and said, "Non."  
  
England slapped his palm against his forehead. "For fuck's sake," he mumbled. Why was it so hard to talk to these people?  
  
"What's so good about your France anyway? Why him?"  
  
England looked up at him, and saw him studying his rapier, bored. "Because he's an idiot and a fucking  _pervert_."  
  
France studied him for a few seconds and then whistled, epiphany dawning in his eyes. "No wonder you want him back. What does he do for you? Rimming? Public blowjobs?"  
  
England reddened indignantly. This France was even more vulgar than the one he was used to. "That's not why I'm bringing the blasted frog back home!"  
  
France's brows rose. "So why do you want him back?"  
  
"Because he belongs in our world," England snapped. "If he stays here too long he can die. We're weaker in this world."  
  
"So what? Let him die here. You don't sound like best friends anyway."  
  
"I can't, you bloody git! It's going to cause an imbalance in our world!"  _And besides, his death is mine!_  
  
The other France studied him for a few moments, before he rummaged his pockets and took out a battered pack of cigarettes, putting one in his mouth and lighting it. "You smoke?"  
  
"Yes," he answered. "But I can't take any from you."  
  
France stopped in the middle of lighting his cigarette and looked at him, as if expecting an explanation.  
  
England took a stick from his own pack and a lighter. "Consuming anything you give me will keep me bound in your world until you decide to let me leave," he explained as though it were obvious. "Persephone's law."  
  
"Oh," the other said, understanding dawning on him. "Rapt de Persephone, grenade, reine des Morts, yadda, yadda, yadda."  
  
"Yes. Exactly." Looks like this France wasn't as much of a halfwit, at least.  
  
France went back to lighting his cigarette. "That's tough. Even a lighter?"  
  
England blew smoke from his cigarette. Ah. Sweet nicotine. "I'd rather be on the safe side."  
  
"It's not like I'd want to keep you here, sunshine." France shrugged and pocketed his lighter. "Why'd Angleterre kidnap him?"  
  
England looked back at him and scowled. "He didn't. The fucking frog went back with him willingly."  
  
"Why'd he run away from you? You sound charming," France sneered sarcastically.  
  
England exhaled the smoke through his nose. "He ran away because I rejected his marriage proposal."  
  
France just looked at him. "Oh," he said, and then exhaled smoke. He rubbed his eyelid with the tip of his ring finger and then sat back.  
  
England looked at him with suspicion. "This happened to you too, didn't it?"  
  
France was about to put the cigarette back into his mouth but decided against it and looked away. "How are you going to get your France back?" he asked, changing the topic.  
  
England blushed furiously. "He's not  _my_  France."

France muttered something under his breath. "Fine, how are you getting him back?"  
  
"I'm not really sure."  
  
France tapped his cigarette on the lip of the ashtray. "Well you better start thinking."  
  
"I'm not the only one in a compromised situation here!" England snapped.  
  
"From the looks of it, you are, connard," France snarled sarcastically. "I'm in my home turf and you're an outsider. If you get stuck here, you die. From what you said, the other France is probably much weaker than I am in this world. If anything, it's the other France who's gonna end up disappearing, not me."  
  
Fuck. He's right. Now he really does have to get France back.  
  
"What does it matter, though? Isn't it much easier with your France gone?"  
  
England looked up at him with a scowl. "It's my duty to get him back."  
  
"Says who?"  
  
"I say so," England snapped.  
  
"Well, it seems to me like it's  _your_  problem, isn't it?" he stretched his arms like a big cat. "I think I'll just let him die. He sounds annoying anyway."  
  
England gnashed his teeth. "Don't you care about anything?"  
  
"Honestly? No," the other France said, chuckling and blowing small rings of smoke out of his mouth. "Plus it'd be the perfect revenge, you know? Angleterre trying to replace me only to find his candidate slowly wasting away. Oh that sounds much better, oui."  
  
England exhaled, annoyed, although not as annoyed as he should be. "All right, look," he said, seeing the other France listening, "Wouldn't it be much more satisfying if our France escaped instead?" He was going to burn in hell for this. "If France runs away from him, he'd be more crushed."  
  
The other France looked at him with pursed lips, as if considering his proposal. "I'm listening."  
  
"As of the moment, the other England is smitten with him," he explained, grimacing at the word 'smitten'. "A betrayal would leave him in more pain." Oh he was going to hell for this. He doesn't really want to hurt Oliver, but if that's what it takes to right this whole thing, then he can live with it.  
  
"Hmmmm c'est vrais," France said, tapping his lips. "You're a lot more fun than the Angleterre here," he chortled. "Oui, but I'm not talking to him."  
  
"Well how am I supposed to get him to give France back?"  
  
"That's  _your_  problem. I'll help you escape with your France, but I'm not talking to that thing."  
  
England groaned. This France was as hard-headed as the one he was trying to save. "Fine," he bit out. "I'll have to sneak him out then."  
  
"Do it at midnight," France said, taking a drag from his cigarette. "He's usually out like a light by then regardless of what he's doing."  
  
"How would you know that?"  
  
France didn't answer and merely toyed with his cigarette.  
  
"I'll need to go to the Stonehenge in this world if I'm taking him back with me. I can't magic myself to that place or else he'll be able to detect me for sure."  
  
"I have a car I left at Angleterre's place," France drawled. "You can use that."  
  
"Why do you have a car in London?" England asked and was again ignored.  
  
"How are you planning to go back to Angleterre's from here?"  
  
"Magic. There's no other way. I'm short on time. If I apparate at the dock, or on a ship near the coast, he shouldn't be able to detect me."  
  
France chuckled and blew out smoke at the same time. "Hmmmm right. D'accord," he said, and started to stroll towards one of the doors in his apartment.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"Just knock when we're about to leave," France drawled and then shut the door behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

England was surprised that he got along a little better with this France than the one he was used to. Not only was this France untalented in cooking, but he was also very well-versed when it came to cars. Despite the clear differences with the France he was used to, there were also subtle similarities.

"He's very good in the kitchen," England said as he got in the driver's seat after France's insistence. "He rubs the fact in my face every chance he gets."

"Sounds like a total jackass," the grumpier France mumbled. "You sure you want him back?"

England just gave him a look that he meant to be stern but ended up looking amused. He couldn't help it. It was quite refreshing to see France call himself a jackass, even if this wasn't the narcissistic one he always argued with.

"When you said very good in the kitchen, did you mean that just in cooking or...?"

England turned on the engine and gave him a confused look. "Of course that's what I meant. What else could I possibly...?" He lost track of his words as soon as this France's expression took a turn for the lewd. He flushed furiously. "Wha--What are you implying?"

"You catch on quickly," this France mused, smiling to himself.

"What are you two talking about?" Flying Mint Bunny asked, perching on England's shoulder.

"I--I don't know what you're talking about."

"If you're this much of a pervert then the other France is probably an incubus or something."

The surly expression sometimes makes him forget that this is still a _France_. "I-I'm not a pervert, you piece of shit."

"I don't get it," Flying Mint Bunny chimed.

The other France just hummed as they finally started on their ride to the other England's house.

England decided that, despite the fact that this France was just a little bit more agreeable than France, he'd rather not converse anyhting with him. He looked down at his dashboard and saw a radio installed.

"You had a radio installed."

"Quoi?"

England took a glance at the other man. "You had a German radio installed on an Aston Martin DB2," he said quietly.

"So?"

"That being a blasphemy aside, this is fresh technology. It's quite expensive."

France just hummed.

"Why bother buying a sports car and improving it if you never intended on using it? Much less racing with it?"

France rested his elbow on the window and looked at the road as they passed by. "Don't get all excited. The one who gave it to me had it installed without telling me. You can turn it on if you want."

"Someone _gave_  this car to you?" England asked, surprised as he turned the radio on.

_\--gonna walk right up to his gate~_   
_And see if I can get it straight~_

France just remained silent, looking a little irked.

_Cause I want him~_   
_I'm gonna ask him~_

"Who gave it to you?" England prodded, after enough time had elapsed.

_Is you is or is you ain't my baby~_

"Tell me more about the other France," the other muttered, changing the topic and looking incredibly annoyed.

_The way you're actin' lately makes me doubt~_

England gripped his steering wheel. This was yet another similarity this France had with France--when they didn't want to answer a question, they change the topic. His France, however, was a lot more subtle about it.

_Yous is still my baby-baby~_

"Are you going to keep changing topics every time you don't feel like answering?"

_Seems my flame in your heart's done gone out~_

"Yes," the other answered flippantly.

_A man is a creature that has always been strange~_

England pursed his lips. Just like France, this clone was also just as moody. Great. "What are you so pissed off about? It's a harmelss question."

_Just when you're sure of one~_   
_You find he's gone and made a change~_

"Would you rather I lie?"

"Well no--"

_Is you is or is you ain't my baby~_

"A fairy came by and bet I can't deepthroat a thick sausage. She lost."

_Maybe baby's found somebody new~_

"Jesus," England swore, laughing despite himself. He had the same sense of humour as his counterpart, albeit with much more vulgar wording.

_Or is my baby still my baby true?_

"Fairies won't make bets like that! He's lying!" Flying Mint Bunny gasped, completely missing the joke.

France started messing with the stereo's controls, trying to switch to a different station.

"Oy, I was listening to that."

"Fucking thing's been playing since I last came here," the other growled. "Don't tell me you appreciate it? It murders your language."

Well, true. It had horrible grammar, but the tune was wonderful. "Just turn it off then. The radio stations are about to close anyway."

France obeyed and turned off the radio.

"So you're not going to say who gave you this car?"

There was a pause, and then, "I need a smoke."

"Can't you hold it off for a few hours?" England asked, irked. "I told you if you smoke, it'd interfere with my magic." Well, not really his magic, but Flying Mint Bunny's magic. Telling him that there was a fairy present in the car would not only end up in ridicule but would pretty much guarantee that France will smoke in the car.

" _You_ smoked earlier," France complained.

"Y--But that was--I _needed_  to."

"Yeah, well I need it too."

"No, you don't," England snapped at him. "Look, you can smoke as soon as this is over. Do you really want the other England to be able to smell you even before we enter his house?"

France muttered something under his breath and just kept quiet.

"He said a very bad word," Flying Mint Bunny whispered to him.

England just snorted. Moody, dramatic and a snob. The two Frances had practically the same traits although the focus of these traits were different. Despite himself, he feels that friendship is much easier with this France than the one he was used to.

Although there were some arguments here and there, it never dissolved into a screaming match like it would with France. At some point, England started to think that maybe Oliver had a point.

But then he remembered that that France had a promise to keep and England wasn't at all willing to pay the consequences of such a stupid spell.

After a few hours of driving in companionable silence, he pulled over a few houses away from the other England's house.

"You're not a bad driver," the other France commented off-handedly.

"It's an Aston Martin," England said quietly, turning the engine off. "Of course I'd be able to drive it."

The other France hummed.

"Where did you get this anyway?" he tried to ask again, trying his luck.

The other France ignored him and got out of the car. "So what do we do? Just barge in or something? Through the windows? Angleterre put some kind of electric fence here so I'm going to tell you up front that that's not working."

"It's a magic barrier," England said, getting out of the car himself. He decided not to ask this France about his knowledge of the barrier anymore because he knew he was going to get ignored. "There shouldn't be a problem with me entering it because we have a contract."

"Right. Whatever," the other France said, lighting a cigarette and following him as he walked up to the front door.

"He's different from France," Flying Mint Bunny whispered to him.

England nodded in agreement, giving the other France a sideways glance. For some reason, this world's France didn't seem to exude the joie de vivre that France usually has.

"So I'll wait for you outside or what?" his crow perched on his shoulder.

"I may be able to lower the barrier since he's asleep. That should let you in," England said, reaching for the doorknob.

"Right," the other France grunted before kicking something near the other England's door. It was too dark to see what it was but it looked like a mound of dirt.

England paused, hands a few inches from the doorknob, and looked at him, curious.

"It's nothing," the other France said gruffly, not looking at him at all.

England just shook his head and touched the doorknob and withdrew his hand immediately. He looked at his fingers and saw burn marks. _Shit._

"He's warded you off," Flying Mint Bunny groaned.

"Shit," England swore, rubbing the burn from his fingertips. "I've been excluded from the ward."

"And what does that mean?" France drawled.

"It means I can't go inside like I used to," England said through gritted teeth. He didn't expect his counterpart to break their centuries-old agreement just to keep France inside. Bloody ridiculous.

"What now, genius?"

"Let me think," England mumbled. He can't use too much magic anymore. All the magic he and Flying Mint Bunny have left should be focused on interdimensional travel.

"There's no way to undo it physically, Arthur," Flying Mint Bunny whispered. "From the looks of this shield, I don't think our combined magic can get us through."

He's right. "Fuck," he swore, digging his nails into his palms.

"What? What's the matter?"

"We can't go in."

France snorted. "Didn't think this one through, did you, sourcils?"

"You're not helping, you great arse--"

The door opened quietly, shutting both of them up. Inside was Flying Chocolate Bunny, hovering in front of them.

"H-Hello," England mumbled dumbly.

"Hurry up and get inside, we don't have much time," Flying Chocolate Bunny growled at him. England immediately complied, stepping inside. France was also about to step in but Flying Chocolate Bunny stopped him. "Not _you_ , just him."

"Well why not?" France snarled. "I've been here several times!"

Flying Chocolate Bunny merely closed the door on his face and flew over to England.

"Why didn't you let him in? He could help me," England said, looking at the closed front door.

"Arthur can forgive me for letting you in, but never him," the creature said darkly. "They're in Arthur's room upstairs. Don't make too much noise."

"Why are you helping me?" England finally asked.

"Because that frog is no better than the frog outside. His impure presence is disrupting the magic in this house."

"Oh." England climbed the stairs carefully and quietly as Flying Chocolate Bunny disarmed the enchantments as they went.

Then a thought struck him. "Wait, that France can see you?"

"Well, he can feel our presence and hear us when we want him to hear us," Flying Chocolate Bunny whispered. "But he knows what we are and when we're there. The France upstairs is the same too."

England's jaw hung open. All those times France teased him about being crazy and seeing fairies! He knows they're real after all! _That bastard._

"All that intercourse and giggling. You'd think they were horny teenagers."

"Please, I'm trying to keep that disgusting thought out of my head," England mumbled, grimacing. Then he remembered something. "Wait, if Oliver fed him, how am I supposed to get France out of here?"

"You remember what he said, right?" Flying Chocolate Bunny whispered back. "He'll let him go if the frog says he wants to go home. All you need to do is convince him to leave."

England nodded. He can do this.

"Oh, that's right," Flying Chocolate Bunny muttered before conjuring some kind of jacket. England caught it. "You left this earlier today. I thought you might want it."

"Thank you," England said, putting it on and then noticing that there was an extra. "This isn't mine."

"It's for the other France. It'll be cold at the Stonehenge."

"Right," England said, draping the thick jacket on his forearm.

Flying Chocolate Bunny shushed him. "We're here."

England looked dumbly at the door in front of him. He didn't even realise that they were already there. Then again, his counterpart's house wasn't that big.

"I'll lure France out and everything else will be up to you," Flying Chocolate Bunny explained, and then magicked the door open quietly.

Since England's eyes had already adjusted in the darkness, he could see the outlines of the room. Most of it was quite ordinary, to his mild surprise. He had expected towers of cupcakes within the room. What he should have expecetd though was the princessy four-poster bed right in the middle of the room.

Flying Chocolate Bunny motioned with his paws and France started to stir, sitting up slowly and carefully, and then starting to float their way. He was in a very frilly thick night gown, thankfully. It looked like they only slept together tonight.

France still had that dazed look in his face as he was levitated out of the room and into the hallway, before softly landing on his bare feet in front of England. The bedroom door closed without a sound.

France swayed a little but it looked like he could still stand by himself.

"All right," England whispered. "What do I do next, exactly?"

"Wake him up," Flying Chocolate Bunny told him. "You have to break the spell."

"What spell did he use?"

"It's an unintended enchantment," Flying Chocolate Bunny explained. "He has to be shocked out of it, I think."

"All right, how?"

Flying Chocolate Bunny hovered around France frantically. "I think you have to remind him of home. I think."

"You think?" England asked, outraged. France giggled.

"I'm not an expert on this!" the creature replied indignantly. "We've never had someone who took in this much accidental mood magic."

"He's only been here for three months."

"I think you and I both know that he didn't only eat and breathe it in, he had intercourse with it!"

England grimaced and got back to the task at hand, trying to will away the image.

"He needs something to remind him of home," Flying Chocolate Bunny said. "Think, Oliver."

England grit his teeth, panicking as he looked at France, dazed and still smiling at who knows what.

"Oliver, stop wasting time," Flying Chocolate Bunny goaded him. "I can only hold off this barrier for so lo--"

England smashed his lips against France's. Kisses always broke small spells, right? It was textbook.

"No wonder he's such a pervert," he heard Flying Chocolate Bunny say before he ended the kiss.

"Shut it," he hissed back, before looking back at a blinking France.

 _It worked!_ Relief welled up inside of England.

France looked at him, giggled, and then went back in his dazed state.

"It didn't work," Flying Chocolate Bunny groaned.

"B-But--" England tightened his fists around France's shirt, wanting so much to kill the bastard for making him kiss him in front of someone. "How can it not work? Kisses are supposed to undo minor curses!"

"It's not a curse," Flying Chocolate Bunny hissed at him. "It's a small enchantment. He needs a memory boost. Something to clear his head."

England scowled at his companion and then glared at France before swiftly kneeing him very hard on the groin.

France doubled over and groaned a quiet but distinct "zut alors" before crumpling to the ground in agony.

England studied him and kicked his shin, earning another pained groan.

"Salaud, I'll murder you with a rusty teaspoon," France growled.

"Wow," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, blinking at France, clearly not used to seeing the other man being murderous.

England nodded to himself. "I think he's back to normal," he mumbled to his partner-in-crime and the crouched down to France's level. "You all right there, frog?"

"What do you think, putain?" France snarled, still in pain.

"Good then," England said, smiling. "I don't want to tear up Oliver's place so let's settle this outside, hmmm?"

"I'll yank your eyes out of your head and shove them up your arse," France swore, eyes shut tight.

England looked at Flying Chocolate Bunny. "Does that qualify as consent?"

Flying Chocolate Bunny nodded. "I think so, yes."

England grabbed France's right arm and put it over his sholder, hoisting him up. He followed Flying Chocolate Bunny who just darted across the hallway, no doubt going to the front door.

"I'll boil you in acid, I swear," France mumbled as England carried him carefully down the stairs.

"Yes, dear, that's sweet," England replied, distracted as he sprinted across the hallway leading to the front door.

"Hurry, Oliver, you're running out of time," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, hovering frantically near the opened front door.

At this point, France seemed to start to recover and tackled England, pushing them out finally out of the house.

England landed on his back with France's hands wrapped securely around his throat, and England's hands gripping his wrists.

"I'll kill you," France hissed, throttling him.

England tried to reason with him, if only his throat wasn't currently being crushed.

"Well, isn't this kinky?"

France's hand loosened a little in surprise at the voice. England took this opportunity and kicked him off. Coughing as he rubbed his throat.

The other France stood before them, expression bored and a little annoyed.

"Thanks," England said raspily.

The other France shrugged before France grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around to face him.

"This is what I look like in this world?" he whispered in horror as he looked at his counterpart. "Are those... _crow's feet_?!"

"Oui. Enchante," he replied sarcastically and then turned to England. "Get him out of here before I kill him."

England nodded, got to his feet and grabbed France's wrist. He led the confused man towards the other France's car and shoved him inside before he climbed in himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By German car stereo, he meant Blaupunkt. They were the first to release an FM one.
> 
> It's a 1950 Aston Martin DB2 Coupe, in case you were wondering what they were driving. Yes, 2PFrance has a British sports car. He won it from a bet at the 1950 24 Hours of Le Mans, betting on Louis Rosier, but never had it shipped to France because (1) it's a right-hand-drive car and (2) he's too ashamed to let others know that he owns a light blue British sports car. Think of the scandal. It was decided that that would be his prize after he was caught red-handed oggling the prototype at the 1949 24 Hours of Le Mans. The loser of the bet liked him so much, in fact, that he had a car stereo added later in secret (without France's approval) because France seemed less sarcastic and cynical when there's music on. In short, he looked happier.
> 
> Is you is or is you ain't - Nat King Cole & Ida James version Original by Louis Jordan


	13. Chapter 13

They were already pretty far away from the other England's house, and France hasn't made a peep since then. Mostly because he had Flying Mint Bunny gag and bind him to the passenger's seat. To his credit, however, France has been squirming for a good hour and a half already.

England wrenched the gag away from France's mouth, and France spit at his cheek.

He would have hit him, oh yes, he would have. But at the moment, he needed to concentrate on driving.

"Let me out of this car," France growled at him.

"I'd love to throw you out of a speeding DB2, trust me, but I'll do that when we get home."

"I don't want to go home."

England gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Hmmm. Yes. That's nice. I don't really sodding care about your feelings."

"Then why are you even here? You should have left me--"

"Because America's going to start a fucking Third World War because of you!" England shouted.

That shut France up for a good few minutes. "Why?"

"Because he thought the Soviet Union kidnapped you, you great tosser."

"That's ridiculous."

"Yes, try telling him that when you get back, hmmm?

"He would have started a Third World War regardless of my well-being."

Well, that's true. But damned if he'd agree with France so easily. At least they could stall a world war from happening just for a little while.

"Canada's worried about you." Canada didn't approach him, actually, but he was somewhat certain that he would be concerned. Maybe.

"You can hardly recognise him much less hear him talk."

"Turkey is--"

"Are you going to keep lying to me throughout this trip?" France cut in.

England grit his teeth. "It's my duty to--"

"Duty? You're taking orders from les fees now?"

"He was worried about you!" Flying Mint Bunny piped up, fluttering onto France's shoulder.

England blushed furiously. He would've swiped at Flying Mint Bunny if he wasn't on France's other shoulder.

"I figured as much, mon petit lapin," France replied, still not looking at him.

England took a moment to glare venomously at him before looking back at the road.

"What is it now?"

"You've been pretending all this time that they were fake when you could see them all along!"

"What are you--"

"DON'T EVEN LIE! YOU JUST REPLIED TO MINT!"

The other huffed. "Well excusez-moi," France retorted haughtily. "It's not like les fees are friendly to me either! Menthe is the only one friendly enough to talk to me sometimes." He shifted in his seat. "Besides, I can't see him. I can only smell him."

Flying Mint Bunny giggled as France rested his head on him. "That tickles!"

"And Mint was in cahoots with you all this time."

"T-The fairies don't want me talking to him, so I kept quiet," Flying Mint Bunny explained sheepishly.

"Traitor," England mumbled, feeling betrayed.

"Sorry," Flying Mint Bunny apologised with a small voice.

"Don't mind him, mon petit," France grumbled. "He isn't really hurt. He has no heart after all."

England glared at him. "You--"

"Oh how has it been? Back home? Has Angleterre been getting into trouble?" he asked the fairy, as though it were his minder.

"No, not at all," Flying Mint Bunny replied. "How about you? What was it like with Oliver?"

"Oliver?"

"It's the name I call him when he visits," England grunted.

"In that case, Oliver is _wonderful_ ," France purred, annoying England. "He's very sweet and cute and very good at baking."

"Hmmmm yes, I've tasted his fairy cakes," Flying Mint Bunny indulged him.

"Aren't they marvelous?" asked France giddily. "He's so caring and kind and wonderful, and...did I say he is cute? He's very cute! I think I'm in--"

England took a sharp turn causing the side of France's head smacked against the window's glass.

"Be careful, England!" Flying Mint Bunny reminded him.

"You did that on purpose," France hissed, looking a little cross-eyed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," England said smugly.

"Oh just admit it, you're jealous!"

"I'm not jealous!" England snapped. "What would I be jealous of? That his cum tastes like mango custard?"

"England!" Flying Mint Bunny exclaimed.

There was silence in the car. "How did you know?"

England almost stepped on the gas too hard. " _What_?"

France burst out laughing. "Oh, mon dieu! You actually fell for it!"

England grit his teeth. He wanted to slam France's face on the dashboard, but thought better of it. He can do that when they get home.

"You're so cute when you're jealous."

"Shut it."

"I guess I did miss that about you."

England felt his cheeks burn, but kept his mouth shut.

France let out a long-suffering sigh. "I feel dizzy."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Non, it's..." France sighed again. "I've been feeling dizzy since we started this trip.

"Oh," England said, blinking. "That's probably because you've left Oliver's house. You're only 100% safe there."

"Then take me back."

"No."

"I want to go back."

"Well that's too bad because you can't stay here."

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because you can die here, you idiot!"

"So you've come to save my life, is that it? You're to be my knight in shining armour?"

England sputtered. "Y-Your--Your death will be by _my_ hands, you fucking ponce! Don't forget your promise!" He turned red. It was a promise France had made right before he was beheaded during the Terror.

"What does it matter? You've already orchestrated my death when you refused to marry me! Why don't you just let me be happy in the last few years of my life?"

"Oh shut up, you great twit. You're not dying."

"I would think I know my body much better than you!"

"You would know if you weren't such an overdramatic wanker!" England spat back. "Your finances aren't even nearly as bad as they were in the Great Depression or your first Revolution!"

France blinked at him, shocked and speechless.

"Oh don't give me that--"

"You _looked_!" France hissed at him, accusing.

England's eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. "Wha--Of course I looked! Why the hell wouldn't--"

"Have you no respect for your fiancé's privacy?!" France shrieked.

"You're not my bloody fiancé!" England shouted back. "Stop acting like a lady whose bloomers were just exposed, because you're nowhere near innocent!"

France wept on Flying Mint Bunny's fur. "Bête! Scoundrel! How dare you even claim to be a gentleman!"

"Oh shut your bloody gob, you ridiculous fop!" England snarled. "How else was I supposed to know if you're really dying or not?"

France sniffed. "Then you did it out of concern for me?"

England reddened completely. "No."

"Then it was all for your perverse satisfaction!"

"Wha--I should shove you right out of this car right now. See if I care!"

"Savage brute! Is that any way to treat your fiancé?"

"You're not my fucking fiancé you--"

"Ah stop it! You're both being too loud!" cried Flying Mint Bunny, covering his ears.

"And now you are rendering poor Menthe deaf! Is there no end to your atrocities?"

"France, I swear to God if you don't--"

"Then tell me why you looked into my private records!"

"They were hardly private--"

"How dare you insult my honour!"

"What honour?!"

France gasped. "How could I have even thought of marrying a dirty delinquent like you? I've always thought nothing could be possibly worse than that grotesque growth of pubic hair on your forehead by I was wrong! Never again!"

England's patience snapped. "WELL I'M BLOODY SORRY I CARED ENOUGH FOR YOUR SLIMY ARSE TO SEE IF YOU REALLY WERE DYING! IT'S NOT LIKE YOU'D APPRECIATE THAT, WOULD YOU? WITH THE WAY YOU TURNED DOWN _MY_ PROPOSAL WHEN I WAS TRYING HELP YOU AGAINST THE SODDING JERRIES!"

He took a few deep breaths to recover from his outburst, before he even realised what he'd just said. _Shit_.

France chuckled. "Je t'aime aussi, Angleterre."

England took a glance at him and saw France grinning to himself like a loon, a light blush sweeping across his cheeks. He reddened too, mostly because he let France lure him into his trap. He glared hard at the road. "When we get back," he said quietly. "I will throttle you so hard your spine will break."

France hummed, not really rising to the bait anymore.

England put his concentration fully on the road this time. Maybe he could get some peace and quiet.

"Angleterre?"

England's brow twitched.

"Can't I just...stay here for a little while longer? Angle--Oliver is so...lonely."

 _ **I'm** lonely_. He blushed at the thought. "No. Staying here any longer will make him attached to you and will eventually hurt him worse. It's for the best."

"But you said I feel dizzy because I'm outside his house."

"Yes."

"Then you should bring me back."

"No," England said flippantly. "You'll be able to recuperate when we get back home."

"What if I escape from this car?"

"You will be doing no such thing," England snapped.

"You're sexy when you're dominant."

England flushed. "Shut your froggy gob or I'll gag you again."

"Kinky. But then again, when are you ever--mmmphhfff" England stuffed the gag back in his mouth.

"I should've never removed the gag," he mumbled to himself. Flying Mint Bunny just giggled.

* * *

 

_"I seem to have forgotten my glasses in my office," his boss said, stopping and feeling his pocket._

_England smiled. "Should we go back?"_

_"No, no, that won't be necessary," his boss smiled back at him. "You can go right ahead. I'll be there in a few minutes."_

_"All right," England nodded, with a grin, as he watched his boss walk briskly back to his office. He inhaled and put on his most pleasant smile as he started walking down the hallway towards the meeting room._

_He strolled, feeling his heartbeat thump against his chest, as though wanting to break out of his ribcage. Well. It wasn't_ every day _that one gets proposed to, right? Even if it is in secret. He never really could expect France to be public about his proposals. But this was still great. Very much so. He giggled to himself._

 _England hasn't given_ his _yes yet, but his boss said they would determine that today during the meeting. He somehow wished they would discuss this in a beautiful rose garden instead, but this was just as good. Yes. Just as good._

_**I won't be so alone anymore.** _

_He reached the door, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He was nervous, naturally. After the failed proposal back in the war, they were at it again, and well. Well. He couldn't say that he isn't excited about it. Maybe he should wait for his boss to come before entering?_

_"...obviously a joke," he heard France's faint voice from the inside. England blushed. He was eavesdropping. That was rude, wasn't it? Still, his body wouldn't move._

_"How could I have known you were joking?" his boss snapped back at him. "You sounded serious."_

_"Yes, but me marrying Angleterre? You must be my stupidest boss yet," France sneered._

_England's heart stopped. He couldn't breathe._

_"You need him," France's boss groaned. "You don't have to love him. Think about your economy."_

_"I can work out my economy just fine," France said flippantly. "I'd rather marry a cherry-flavoured dildo than Angleterre. At least that one knows when to shut up."_

_"France!"_

_England felt his eyes begin to get wetter and his face grow hot. His shaking hand went to his mouth._

_France laughed. "You can't make me marry him."_

_"France, your economy is in shambles--"_

_"I went through la Terreur and survived. What makes you think I won't this time?"_

_"Look, it doesn't matter. We're already here. Could you just behave for once?"_

_"_ Non _."_

_A hand clapped on England's shoulder, making him jump and step away from the door immediately._

_"Why haven't you entered yet?"_

_England didn't look at his boss and breathed in deeply to keep his eyes dry. "I-I was waiting for you."_

_"Nervous, aren't we?" his boss asked, smile apparent in his voice and still oblivious of England's state._

_England swallowed and held his hand to his shoulder. "I-I don't want to marry him."_

_There was a pause. "Why the sudden change in mood?"_

_England exhaled, eyes trained on the door in front of him. "I-I-I...I just--I just thought that maybe...maybe it would be better for me that way."_

_"You're absolutely certain?"_

_**I'd rather marry a cherry-flavoured dildo than Angleterre. At least that one knows when to shut up.**  
_

_England nodded. "Yes."_

_His boss patted him on the back and opened the door for both of them. England stepped in, determinedly looking at the floor._

_"You're here!" he heard Mollet greet them with a cheerful voice._

_"I apologise for our tardiness," Eden said with an amicable tone as they all took their seats. "I'd forgotten my spectacles back in my office."_

_"It's all right, Monsieur Eden," Mollet laughed. "That always happens to me."_

_Eden laughed. "On to business then."_

_"Yes, of course," France's boss said. "Have you both read the proposal?"_

_"_ Yes _we have," Eden answered for him. "It was quite tempting, I'd have to say."_

_England's nails sank into his palms._

_Mollet laughed. "Well, it is meant to be the union of the_ millenium _."_

_"I agree, it would have been," Eden replied. "But I'm afraid, my advisers are against it."_

_"Oh?"_

_He heard France snort. The lump in his throat grew._

_"We have determined that perhaps a closer bilateral trade agreement would be better suited for this situation. It would be an honor to negotiate on that with the great Republic of France."_

_"I see," Mollet said, although there was a hint of disappointment in his voice. "I will have to ask my_ council _on that matter."_

_"Brilliant," Eden said, standing up. England, Mollet and France stood with him. "I expect to hear from your government then?"_

_"Yes. Yes, of course." England saw them shake hands from the corner of his eye._

_"Thank you for your time," his boss said, still maintaining his friendly demeanor._

_"The pleasure is all ours," Mollet said, just as friendly. "Well then, we'll take our leave."_

_"Of course," Eden said. "We'll go downstairs with you."_

_England bit his lip. He wanted to get out of there as soon as possible, but he knew it was rude to just disappear, so he trailed behind his boss, Mollet and France as they strolled towards the stairs. At least France was keeping his distance. England kept his eyes resolutely on the floor._

_France slowed down and was soon at the same pace as he was._

_"This is too hilarious," France mumbled in a low tone that only England could hear._

_He didn't want to reply. He didn't even want to talk to France, but that would be rude, wouldn't it? He just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat._

_"That idiot Mollet took my joke seriously and offered a proposal. Can you believe it?"_

_"Heh," England said, in a pathetic attempt at a fake laugh._

_"I'm glad you caught on to the joke. Did you see his face?"_

**_I'd rather marry a cherry-flavoured dildo than Angleterre. At least that one knows when to shut up._ **

_England nodded, still not looking at his companion as they descended down the stairs. "Yes," he swallowed. "I sure did."_

_They walked all the way to the exit in silence after that._

* * *

 

England woke up to the sound of the ringing phone. He blindly felt for it on his side of the bed, picked it up and placed it against his ear.

"Ahoy hoy, Arthur Kirkland speaking," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"England," the voice on the other line whispered. "It's me."

England hummed, smiling, eyes closed because he was still much too sleepy. "America. How nice of you to call."

"What's the password?"

England's brows knitted as he tried to wake his sleep-addled brain enough to remember the password. Eureka. "Communism is a farce."

A sigh of relief could be heard from the other end of the line. "Good. It's you."

England yawned. There really was no sense for America to be so worried. They had secure lines, after all. "Why are you calling so late?" he yawned. "Or should I say early?"

"Because evil doesn't sleep," the other line hissed at him. "Listen up, I met with the Soviet Union today..."

"Mmmhmmmmm," England said, nodding, already going back to sleep.

"...built new fucking bombs. I think he's getting intelligence from within my government."

"Mmhmmmmm..."

"England!" the other line hissed with a sense of urgency.

England yawned again. "Sorry about that," he mumbled sleepily. "What did you say?"

"Oh _shit_ , the Soviet Union drugged you, didn't he? That's why you're so fucking sleepy!"

"Language," England reprimanded him sleepily.

"I'll clobber his fucking teeth out, I swear. Don't eat or drink anything for the next five months. I'm sure he's already spiked your food supply or something. I'll call you back in a few hours." The line went dead.

"That's great," England yawned and hung up the phone on his bedside. Mind slowly clouding with sleep, he draped his arm over the other side of his bed. His arm landed on a cold empty mattress.

England's brows knitted as he groped the mattress beside him. Finally cracking an eye open, he saw that his bedmate was no longer there.

England sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "France?"

Nobody answered. It was strange. France was quite the heavy sleeper. It wasn't like him to get up at night.

He stood up and out of the bed. Maybe he was in the bathroom? He walked over and opened the bathroom door. Nobody was there. He furrowed his brows. Maybe he went downstairs to grab a glass of milk? Come to think of it, he'd like one too. He went out of the room and descended down the stairs to his kitchen.

"France, darling?"

The kitchen was empty too. He scratched the back of his head. Where could France be?

"France?" he called out again, walking out of the kitchen and down the hallway, when he almost slipped on something wet on his floor. He kneeled down and touched his floor with his fingers. Inspecting it closely, he could see that it was runny mud. But how could that be? He'd cleaned the house this after--

His eyes widened at the realisation, and he stood up immediately, as though the watery mud shocked him. Somebody had been into his house. Somebody he didn't authorise at all.

"France?" he called out once again, this time panicking as he ran to check the living room. No one was there either. He ran to his front door and wrenched it open.

"France!" he shouted into the night. Nobody answered.

He hyperventilated. Where is France? He couldn't have run away, could he? That couldn't be. He saw what looked like marks of struggle in the snow on his front yard.

"No," he whispered with dread. He slammed the front door closed and ran back up to his room to get some magic powder.

"You can't leave me," he muttered desperately, mostly to himself. If he were lucky, they should still be at the Stonehenge.

_You can't leave._


	14. Chapter 14

France was face-to-face with an ebony black unicorn, trembling.

"He's from my world," England explained to the creature. "I'm taking him back home."

The unicorn neighed. "Do you wish to go back home?"

France couldn't answer. He was in front of a unicorn, for god's sake! He's never seen one before. Well, he might've seen one on the way to this world but he was too drunk to acknowledge it then.

"France!"

France looked back at England, eyes wide. "Angleterre, c'est une licorne."

"I know that, you great dolt. He's asking you a question."

France looked back at the horned horse and reached out to try to touch his horn.

The unicorn bucked and stepped away from his touch.

"France! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"C'est une licorne," he said, dumbstruck. "They're real."

"Of course they're real!"

"I--I'm dreaming, aren't I?"

"Oh for god's sake!" England snarled and turned him around to face him. "Listen to me, frog. Unless you answer him, we can't go home!"

"But I don't want to go home."

The unicorn neighed.

England's grip around his arms tightened before he looked at the unicorn. "Don't listen to him, please. He's still sleep-addled, you know?"

The unicorn exhaled loudly behind them.

"Listen to me, you wretched frog," England hissed, looking back at him. "You're going to say you want to go home, or so help me I'll shoot you in the head right here right now!"

"You're not making a persuasive argument, Angleterre," he teased, loving the angry purple spreading across England's face.

"What the fuck do you want from me?"

"Marriage?"

"No."

France flinched, pretending to be hurt. "You wound me, mon cher."

"Fine," he growled. "I'll do anything except that."

France hummed. Well. Isn't it nice to have England under his power?

"Hurry up, you great git."

"I want you to act like Oliver when we get home."

There was a pause. "No."

"Only for a week?"

"No."

"How about five days?"

"No. Shortening the amount of time won't do you any good because I'm not doing it."

France frowned. "Well that's just too bad, isn't it?"

" _France._ "

"Three days."

"I said no."

Flying Mint Bunny flew on England's shoulder. "He'll do whatever you want except those two for a day."

"I'm not going to--"

"Make it three days and you have a deal," France said.

"Okay," Flying Mint Bunny agreed.

"Good."

England's eyes widened, bewildered. "What?"

France got away from his grasp immediately before he could say anything and trotted towards the unicorn.

"Monsieur Licorne! I'm ready to go home now. And make it quick, s'il vous plait."

"I didn't agree to that!" England shouted.

The unicorn circled France, as though to inspect him. "You've eaten from here."

"Yes," Flying Mint Bunny said, landing softly on France's head. "But his host said he can go home whenever he pleases."

The unicorn sniffed at France, tickling him and making him giggle. "No. He doesn't have his host's consent."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" England yelled at the unicorn.

The gatekeeper looked at him. "He doesn't have consent. His host must be here to escort him back." The unicorn swished its tail. "He will not pass through the gate."

* * *

  
England stumbled face-first onto the snow in a puff of white smoke. He didn't give himself enough time to recover or even acknowledge that it was freezing, before he ran towards the gatekeeper, robe flapping behind him in the cold night breeze.

"Gatekeeper!" he shouted, gasping for air as he ran uphill towards the Henge. "Gatekeeper!"

The unicorn in question trotted towards him, seemingly amused. "England."

England wheezed several times before he could get a word in. "Has another England been here tonight?"

"Yes."

He looked at his gatekeeper with dread. "Where are they?" he asked, panicking. _Please don't be gone please don't be gone--_

"Somewhere," the gatekeeper said cryptically.

"Did they pass through the gate?" he asked, close to tears. He didn't feel anything, but maybe he didn't feel anything because he was asleep?

The unicorn neighed. "They did not pass through the gate tonight."

England sighed in relief. _I'm not too late._

"If your guest wishes to leave, you must escort him."

England's eyes widened. Of course. He did promise that, didn't he? He nodded earnestly at the unicorn, feeling hope bubble in his chest. "Did they say where they were going?"

"No," the unicorn answered, turning his back to his nation and dismissing him.

England merely stood there, doubled over, still gasping for air before he started laughing to himself. _You won't leave me._

* * *

 

Knocks on the door woke France up from his musing. He got up from his hotel bed and looked at his door. It was already five in the morning. This hotel doesn't serve breakfast so there shouldn't be anyone bothering him unless they want a mouthful of his fist. Soho isn't exactly the friendliest part of London.

He was about to lie back down again when knocks came again, this time, more insistent. Cursing, he got up and walked towards the door, fully intending swear at whoever was on the other side of the door.

He wrenched the door open, but his swears died at his throat. On the other side of the door was a mirror.

_Who the fuck would put a mirror here?_

Strangely, however, his reflection in the mirror did not have his scruff, his eye bags or his weary demeanor. His reflection was also pouting, and France doesn't even feel that he's pouting.

"Est-ce que--"

"Frog, did you find him?"

England came to view behind his reflection. _Wait. That isn't--_

"I told you I would," his reflection said smugly.

" _Merde_ ," he swore, closing his eyes and rubbing at them in annoyance.


	15. Chapter 15

France held his scruffier reflection's scowling face in his hands, scrutinizing his facial features. They had gone to France this time, after that failed attempt at going back home. Apparently, unicorns are not to be shouted and cursed at, unless you intend to be gored. It didn't even take them that much time to locate this France, mostly because he himself somehow had an instinct that his counterpart would be staying in while Soho he was still in London. England's sorcery took care of their transportation back to Paris--back to this rathole his counterpart calls home.

He leaned a bit closer and looked into his counterpart's glaring eyes. He had potential. Of course, how could he not? He is France, after all! If anything, this reflection of his only served to remind him to never let go of himself. Ever. Although the lack of care had wreaked its havoc on this world's France, nothing could ever remove the sheer beauty underneath the scowl, eye bags and untamed scruff.

"You know, mon ami, you don't look bad at all. You just need a haircut, a nice shave, some beauty sleep, and perhaps a complete change of wardrobe--something that would compliment your pretty tickled pink eyes, and you would be a god."

"Is he hitting on me or insulting me?"

"Hitting on you. He does that," England commented from the ratty dining table, massaging his temples in the manner of a troubled man and muttering to himself. He's been doing that a lot.

"Oh please," France said, rolling his eyes. "I was merely helping you reach your potential, cheri. You are me, after all, and you are therefore riddled with endless opportunities! Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Why, with a little bit of work and a smile on your lips, you could be as gorgeous as moi."

"What makes you think I want your bourgeois comments?"

"Oh, I see!" France said, excited. "You were going for the rough rebel look! Tres sexy! But I think it would work best if you smiled a little, non? Les filles will always swoon for a charming rebel."

"No kidding," his reflection said with wide eyes, and then settled for a smirk. "Like this?"

France tilted his head. "Bedroom eyes would be good, I think."

His reflection lowered his eyelids some until France smiled. "So. Wanna fuck?"

France scowled and let go of his face.

"Will you both please stop hitting on each other?" England exploded from the table, glaring at them, with an odd tinge of pink on his cheeks.

 _Oh._  Sometimes he wishes that he can't read his rival so well. England's obviously already pictured them in his head. France would have considered make out with his clone just to see England reluctantly enjoying the show, if he weren't so repulsed by this other France.

"What? It's not everyday I get to fuck myself!"

"Ugh,  _non_ ," France said in disgust and turned away from him. How this other man could ever be in any way his counterpart is beyond him. "You have no art with words at all! How could Angleterre even consider you a writer or a philosopher?"

"Hey, I use the right words when necessary, okay? Besides, sourcils over there says you're an easy lay."

France glared at England, hurt, but mostly angry. "Oh he did, did he?"

"Leave me out of this," England groaned. "I'm trying to think of a way to get us out of the mess _you_  put us into."

"Don't think too hard, cheri," he jeered spitefully. "You might injure yourself."

"Oho! Sourcils didn't tell me you could bite!" the other France whistled.

England suddenly stood up and put his coat on.

"Where are you going?"

"England," he grunted and strode for the door.

France grabbed his arm before he could turn the doorknob. "I'm going with you. I could hel--"

"Help with what? You've caused enough trouble as it is!" England snapped at him. "If I take you there, do you really think he'd let you get away a second time?"

France looked at him, angry, but then let go of his arm with a sigh of defeat. England was right, but he hated the fact that he has to wait here like a damsel in distress.

"You stay here," England ordered. "I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Sourcils, what do I do if you fail?" the other France jeered.

"Nothing. Because I won't fail."

"That's what you said last time too, and yet here you are," the other France snorted. "I'd want to be ready the next time you fuck up."

England glared at him. "There won't be a next time." With that, he left. Leaving France alone and feeling miserable. He might've had a hand in starting this mess, but he would appreciate it if he could at least have a hand in solving it.

"So what's so great about you?" the other France asked, lighting a cigarette.

France raised a brow at him. "What are you talking about?" he asked snootily.

"Angleterre likes you enough to ruin a friendship and have you replace me. Your Angleterre is risking his life to get you back. So what's the deal here? Do you have bonbon flavoured cock or what?"

France cringed at his counterpart's foul mouth. He has no talent in the poetic use of language at all. "I don't know about my Angleterre," he said, narrowing his eyes. "But as for the Angleterre here, I'm sure it's because he can't handle your  _warm_  and _glamorous_  personality."

The other France pursed his lips at him, before laughing out loud. "That's what he told you?"

"It's what I can see," France said, haughty. "Perhaps if you actually care and are more responsible, he wouldn't have to look for a replacement."

The other gave him a patronising look. "You're so cocksure of yourself, aren't you?" He exhaled a puff of smoke. "So why did your Angleterre reject you if you're so suave and oh-so-desirable?"

France flinched. That stung. Before he could retort, his host interrupted him.

"Do you even know what you're getting into?" he asked, puffing smoke. "You hardly even know this Angleterre to say that you actually care about him."

"I am a grown man," France answered back. He wasn't about to back down to his rude reflection. "If I say I care, then I care."

The other snorted. "D'acc," he muttered, lips curling into a smug smile. "How does he like to fuck?"

France was taken aback at that. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sexual position," the other explained, making lewd hand gestures. "Or act, if you want to be a prude about it."

France cringed his nose. This man had no art in him at all. Off the top of his head, he picked the position they've been using the most. "Missionary."

His rude reflection burst out laughing. "You don't know anything!"

France reddened indignantly. He wasn't even sure if he were really wrong or if this France was just pretending to know the right answer.

"Ah ouais," he said, snorting, still red from laughing. "That was a bit advanced, non? Let's try this: how many bowties does he have?"

"I don't see how that's an important question," France retorted, knowing that even if he did answer, he would still be laughed at.

"You don't even know, do you?" he sneered, keeping his laughter at bay as best he could. "How can you even say you care if you know nothing?"

France fumed. Three months was a very short time to get to know someone.

"Alors, enough of that then. Tell me, when was the last time you had paperwork to do?"

France scowled and opened his mouth, and then he closed it again. He hadn't done any work since he left. He grit his teeth. He couldn't say he wasn't able to do it because he was kidnapped, because he wasn't. It was all out of carelessness.

The other grinned cockily. "And you call yourself responsible." He blew out smoke triumphantly. "All because your Angleterre rejected you. You have no shame at all."

France's nostrils flared. He wasn't really intending to come to this world because England rejected him! He just got swept away by the moment! "That was not the reason. And what about you, hmmmm? You hole yourself up here alone because your Angleterre rejected you. I can't say you're any more mature than I am."

The other France crushed his cigarette between his fingers, glaring at him. "That's what he told you?!"

France blinked, surprised at this reaction. He never actually talked about this with the other England. "You mean, you didn't propose to him?"

The other France angrily stabbed his crushed cigarette on his coffee table. "Non. That lying little--"

"He didn't tell me anything about the incident," France said, correcting him, still shocked. "I just assumed..."

"Assumed what happened to you two happened the same way here?" the other said, anger diminishing. "Don't compare me to you."

"There's nothing wrong with making proposals," France bit back, but then calmed himself down. "What happened between you two then?"

"Why don't you ask him?" the other sneered.

"Well, I can't, can I?" he answered, annoyed. "I'm not supposed to go back to his house or else I can't go home."

"Too bad then," the other France said, standing up and walking to the kitchen.

France clenched his fists and followed him. "Well then why won't you tell me? If anyone is going to look stupid in this situation, then it's Angleterre, right? You like that, don't you?"

"What the fuck do you care anyway? It doesn't matter what happened," the other snapped, opening his cupboard and taking our a bottle of white wine. "He'll get over himself with or without you."

France fumed, not only because he was insulting his friend, but because he could use some wine himself despite England telling him not to. "Why don't you just admit it? You were on the losing end like I was!"

The other France banged his bottle of wine on the dining table. "Merde, you are _fucking annoying_. How could he ever think you were better than me?"

France took that as an affront. "That is _my_  line! If I had met a France as horrible as you, I would not even dare to come anywhere near another France. Your very existence is enough of an offense as it is! It wouldn't be a surprise that he wants you replaced! Poor Angleterre!"

The other France looked absolutely murderous. "Poor Angleterre? Nique l'Angleterre! He's the one who always pesters _me_  wherever I go! It's not my fucking fault that he thought _I_ proposed to him! What fucking right does he have to be angry when it was I who was humiliated?"

They gaped at each other, the host panting after his outburst before he realised what he'd just said. "Merde," he swore, taking a few large gulps from his wine bottle.

"That's...what happened...?"

The other France glared up at him, grit his teeth and turned his glare at his wine. "I pitched the idea to Mollet as a joke. The next thing I knew that connard went behind my back and made a proposal without my knowledge of it. I explained the whole thing to Angleterre, we both agreed we didn't want to get married, and then he never spoke to me again for months. The next thing I knew, he already found a replacement for me."

France merely blinked at him in shock, and then narrowed his eyes in contempt. "You are just terrible."

"What?"

"You told him it was all a joke? Of course he would reject you!"

"He rejected me _before_  I explained it to him!" the other snapped.

"Oh," France said, understanding, glaring as angrily as he can. "You just couldn't let it be, could you?"

The other looked at him, confused. "Couldn't let what be? What are you talking about?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" France asked him, frowning. "You were hurt that he rejected you--"

"I wasn't hu--"

"--and you didn't want to look like the fool so you told him it was a joke!" France finished in disgust. "And now you're wondering why he wants you replaced!"

The other France glared at him. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

"Of course I do!" France yelled back. "I'm _you_ , remember?"

"You're not me," the other growled.

"Maybe if you weren't so abrasive, Angleterre would have accepted your proposal."

The other scoffed. "Right. Like you--"

"I've known him very well and I know that you've hurt him very badly."

"He was angry that I stringed him along to pull a gag on--"

"He was hurt," France corrected him, annoyed at the blatant denial. "And lonely. Do you even listen to yourself talk? Why else would he take me in for three months?"

The other France scowled at him, took his wine bottle and brushed past him to go back in the living room.

France followed. "Did you try to apologise to him at least?*"

"Apologise?" the other France grunted as he plopped on his tattered couch, taking up the whole furniture. "What for? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Don't lie to me, you know exactly what you did wrong!"

The other France rolled to lay on his side, blocking his face from view.

France sat carefully on the coffeetable and prodded his counterpart.

"Va te faire foutre," the other mumbled, keeping facing the couch's backrest resolutely.

France sighed. He needed wine for this. "You're hurt because he tried to replace you."

The other France didn't say anything.

"You know what he told me about you?"

The other still didn't stir.

"He told me that you were sad here."

Still no response.

"Hey," France said, putting a hand on the other's shoulder. "Are you listening to me?"

His host slapped his hand away.

France recoiled and just sighed. "He isn't doing this to replace you, you know. He wants to do this because you seemed so depressed here all the time and he feels like there's nothing he can do about it. When I told him my home was happy, he thought that maybe you'd be happier where I came from."

The man in front of him still didn't stir.

France gave up. "I give up," he muttered. "Call me when my Angleterre is back, won't you?"


	16. Chapter 16

England landed on the small dingy boat tied underneath the pier, sending small ripples on the water beneath them. He'd used this earlier with the other France. It was much more inconspicuous. 

"We're almost out," he whispered to his companion. 

"Yes," Flying Mint Bunny muttered. "We don't have enough for transport back home."

"I can still make two trips," England said, walking up to the rope that had kept the dingy boat from sailing away. "If worse comes to worst, I'll have to send a message to Norway. I'm sure he'd be willing to help."

"You only have two days left, or else the Unseelie Court will--"

"I _know_ that. Do you really think I'd let them get to him?"

"I guess not," Flying Mint Bunny mused. _Then again, you don't seem to like him that much._ "What's your plan now?"

England held on to the rope and started climbing up to the pier. "We get Oliver, tie him up, and then bring him to the Henge. Simple." 

"Will that even work?" he doubted.

"The gatekeeper said escort. He didn't say anything about it being willingly done." His nation started climbing up the pier without the rope.

Flying Mint Bunny sighed. "England, that's not really a--"

England suddenly ricocheted off the pier and splashed into the water. Flying Mint Bunny blinked at where he fell. England wasn't usually that clumsy.

"Gooooaalll!" cried a very familiar cheerful voice. 

 _Uh oh._ Flying Mint Bunny swooped behind one of the pillars, looking at the water below him, panicking. England had been hit. He can't get into the sea. He can't swim and he has no jurisdiction over it to magic it.

_England, don't drown._

Whatever hit England seemed to have some kind of stretchy rubbery substance attached to it, because the Cotton candy man was using it to hoist him up back into the pier. He could see that the pink substance, whatever it was, had covered England's head up to his shoulders. He also seemed unconscious as he was hoisted up.

"Goodness, you're heavy," Cotton Candy Man said, capturing England. "France, darling? Are you down there somewhere? it's safe to come out now!"

Flying Mint Bunny stayed in his place. At the moment, it's not really wise to fight Cotton Candy Man head-on. Not when he has less than half his magic left. It would be better to wait until Cotton Candy Man was distracted.

"France?"

His heart hammered in his chest. If he gets caught, it was over. He was England's backup.

Cotton Candy Man's head peeked from under the pier. "France?" 

Flying Mint Bunny just stayed still, so as not to be discovered. _I have to warn France. But I can't leave England like this._ After all, they had better chances of escaping with England there.

"Oh. Of course you wouldn't bring him back with you," Cotton Candy man said, displeasure clear in his voice as he disappeared from view again. "You probably left Mint with him to guard him too."

Flying Mint Bunny sighed in relief. At least he was still safe. A black bird squawked, circling above the pier.

"Mint, old chap," Cotton Candy Man called out, making him freeze up in panic. "If you're here somewhere, I have Oliver! Don't worry, it's just a bit of knock-out taffy, he's not hurt. If you want him back, bring France to my house as soon as possible, all right?" 

Flying Mint Bunny didn't dare to answer. It would expose his location.

Cotton Candy Man sighed. "You're probably not even here," he heard him mutter and then grunt. He was probably hoisting England on his shoulder.

Flying Mint Bunny breathed. Cotton Candy Man doesn't know where France is. He's sure England won't tell him. He heard footsteps as Cotton Candy Man was probably going back home with his catch. He sighed.

_France can wait. I have to save England._

* * *

 

England woke up to the smell of nutmeg and chocolate. He blinked his eyes open blearily and saw that he was in the kitchen, and his counterpart was sitting right in front of him, sipping tea. When he tried to move, he realised that both his hands and feet were cemented to the chair he was sitting on.

"Oh you're awake," his captor acknowledged, unsmiling. "Where is he?"

"I'm not telling you."

"Oh come now, Oliver--"

"How did I get here?"

The other England exhaled. "You can't really expect to use the same trick and not be caught, right?"

"Let go of me," he growled.

The other just looked at him, his eyes not holding the characteristic mirth to them. "Now why would I do that?"

England exhaled, angry. "You promised to let him go if he wanted to go!" 

The captor blew on his mug of tea. "And I promised him I'd escort him back myself. You, on the other hand, promised with me to never barge into each other's houses uninvited. Who's the real promise-breaker here?"

"I _had_ to do it--"

"Did you?" the other interrupted with an annoyed tone. "Why?"

"To right the wrong you've done!" 

The other England just looked at him, patience obviously wearing thin. "And what exactly did I do wrong?"

"You--You're keeping France here!"

The other England hummed. "And I told you he came here as a guest. Everything I did was legal and law-abiding."

"B-But you--you--" England exhaled, exasperated. "Just because you haven't broken any rules, doesn't mean what you're doing is right!"

The other England shook his head at him and sipped his tea. "Oliver, what is it, really? What part of the arrangement is bothering you?"

England opened his mouth and closed it. How does he explain it?

"You can't be upset about France not being there to bother you, right?" the other England asked, brows knitted in confusion. "You've always talked about how you wish he'd disappear. Why, I'm actually doing you a favour."

"I wasn't asking you for a favour," England snapped.

"Friends don't really need to be _asked_ for favours, Oliver, you know that."

England sighed and closed his eyes. "Then just--just let us go home. If you're so eager to do me a favour." 

"You can go home at any time," the other England said, raising his brows. "But leave France here."

"Why?"

"You know, while France was staying here, I realised how jealous I was of you," the other man said quietly. "France is so attentive and kind. We fit so well together and both of you don't. At that point I thought that maybe he should stay where he's appreciated." He then looked at England with renewed fervour. "I need him here, Oliver. I'd hoped you'd understood that."

England glared at him. "You don't need him here. You already have a France."

"I need him," the other England said quietly. "That France doesn't need me. This one does."

"He doesn't need you," England growled, wondering where the hell he got that bloody idea from. "Sooner or later you're going to have to let him go home because I'm not going to help you switch them." 

The other England frowned at him, and he had to admit, it looked strange on the other man. 

He continued, nonetheless. "And when he returns," England sighed wearily, "You know what's going to happen."

The other gripped his teacup tightly. "That's a shame," he muttered and then sipped some more of his tea. "I guess I'll just have to ask the Soviet Union from your world to help me instead."

"What?" England asked, caught in unawares.

"Oh it's just like you to not read the spellbook properly, isn't it?*" the other tutted, frown still in place. "The spell works regardless of who the two mirrors are, as long as they both have magic and represent both worlds."

"You're insane," England said softly, wide-eyed. 

The other England furrowed his brows at him. "Insane? I think not reading the spellbook properly is insane."

"What you're doing is wrong, and you know it!" England yelled at him. "It doesn't matter if it's not punishable by law, it doesn't make it--"

"Don't you understand? I'm trying to make this _right_!" the captor angrily shrieked, his voice ringing on the walls as he stood up angrily. England had never seen him this angry before. He exhaled and then went to the counter to set down his teacup, his back to his captive. "I'm trying to do this properly by making him legally stay here!"

England grit his teeth. "He can't stay here. He belongs to me." After realising what he'd just said, he blushed. 

His captor paused, looking at him in surprise and then started laughing hysterically, bent over the counter. "You didn't even realise he was missing! If nobody told you he was here, it would probably have taken you a millenia to realise that he was gone!"

He clenched his fists. Well, yes, he didn't notice he was gone, but he'd have noticed it sooner or later.

"Besides, you've already rejected him."

"He only came to you because he was heartbroken about me," England spat at the other's back. Well, that wasn't really true. He didn't know exactly if that was France's motivation.

The other England stopped laughing and slowly straightened. "That's not true."

Oh, he struck a chord. Well. "And you only took him in because you wanted to pretend he's the _other_ France being nice to you for a change." 

The other lunged at him, one hand clutching his throat and the other holding a jagged dagger just underneath his chin. England gulped at the look of pure insanity in the other's eyes. He'd never seen him like this before. Ever.

"England, don't do it," Flying Chocolate Bunny warned from the top shelf. England didn't even realise he was there. 

But his counterpart didn't falter at all.

"You know it's true," England mumbled, despite feeling the blade against his skin. "You're just fooling yourself." 

The look on his counterpart's face was absolutely rabid. And then all of a sudden, it morphed into that of an epiphany.

England quirked his brows at him.

The other England sniffed his hair. "Oh."

"What are you--"

The other England got off of him then, and started grinning at him. "Oh you're a clever one, you are."

England braced himself. He didn't know what the other was talking about but he didn't like the look on his face.

"You even tried to hide his cigarette scent with your own brand," he said, grin growing wider. "Very clever. But wasn't that risky? Bringing this world's France into our little argument?"

England's eyes widened. _Shit._

"That was completely reckless of you," the other England said softly, still amused. "No matter. Hopefully he hasn't killed him yet."

"He doesn't want any part of your stupid scheme," England snapped. "He's not willing to switch."

At this, his counterpart looked at him, eyes dark. "Is that so? How did you convince him?"

"He didn't need convincing," England spat. "He doesn't want to leave. He never wanted to."

The other England studied him, not looking at all convinced. "Oh well. I suppose I'll have to pick France up myself regardless."

"No!" Flying Chocolate Bunny yelled, swooping down at him, but then he suddenly tumbled onto the floor. His paws and and wings looked like they were wrapped in--

"Naughty, naughty, Flying Chocolate Bunny!" the other England sang at him, wagging his finger at his companion. "Don't think I don't know that it was you who helped Oliver over here."

Flying Chocolate Bunny struggled but couldn't get out of whatever was binding him, as it was sticking to the floor.

"Don't move too much, dear," the other England said, putting on his coat. "Taffy can get a little sticky, you know. Try to keep Oliver company for me, won't you?"

"Where are you going?" England called at him, as his counterpart was already headed out of the kitchen.

"To France, of course!" the other replied from outside before a plume of black smoke curled up near the door, signalling his departure.


	17. Chapter 17

France kicked the bed his counterpart was sleeping in, causing the other man to fall off it. The nerve of this guy, sleeping in his bed when he himself can't.

"Mon Dieu," the other mumbled as he sat up from the floor. "What do you want, you savage brute?"

"Is it true?"

"What is?" the one on the floor hissed.

He shifted from foot to foot. What is he asking, anyway? He doesn't really know.

His fancier counterpart looked up at him with a quirked brow, seemingly understanding the situation. "Oh. So now you're ready to listen."

"Ta guele," he snapped at him.

"Yes, it's true," the other said haughtily. "Everything I said is true."

He crossed his arms on his chest. Was that why he made France wait for him outside his door in the freezing rain? Why would he be hurt? France was the one who got humiliated here.

 _Well maybe if all he wanted was me being nice, maybe he shouldn't have gone and replaced me with this powdered wig._ He clenched his fists at the thought.

His counterpart wrapped his arms around his own knees. "Are you going to ask me how to make it up to him?"

His brow twitched. "What? No."

His fancier clone sighed. "For starters, you could start appreciating him. It's not that hard. He has a lot of good qualities."

France glared at him. "Look--"

" _For example_...compliment him!"

"Uh...what...?"

"Compliment his features! Like how his hair shines beautifully in the moonlight, or how the sweep of his neck is as majestic as that of a swan's, or how the shy gleam in his eyes make your heart beat faster. Or how the gentle blush of cherry red on his nose makes you want to kiss it."

France scowled at him. His counterpart was a crappy writer. "Right. That's not happening."

The other pouted back. "You could try! It's not that hard!"

"It's. Not. Happening," he spat.

"Mon dieu," the other swore. "Tu es impossible!"

France just looked at him, amused. "Is this what you regularly say to sourcils?"

"Of course not!" his counterpart snapped at him. "I'm a lover, not a liar."

France snorted.

"But I do compliment his arse. It's his redeeming feature, after all."

"And this is what you do to get laid?"

The other sighed. "Have you no art at all?"

"Hey! Bluntness is an art in itself. There's beauty in raw truth."

The other looked at him, amused. "You _are_ me." He leaned forward a little, with a sly look on his face. "Is that why you look so rugged and harsh? To match your philosophy?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Joking aside," the other said, finally standing up and then putting a hand on his shoulder. "You have to tell him how you really feel."

"How I _what_?"

"Oh don't think I haven't noticed," the other said with sly narrowed eyes. "You've been hiding behind your bluntness the whole time! Sandwiching lies in between truths. I've known how to detect that for centuries."

France slapped the other's hand off his shoulder. "Va te faire foutre."

"Jokes are often half-meant," he said with a knowing smile. "Don't try to lie to me."

"You're mental," France said, scowling this time.

"I am _you_ , mon ami. There's no point in lying to me."

France was about to retort, but his fancy clone cut him off.

"I know your reasons for hiding are far more mature than that of mon Angleterre, of course, but it makes a world of a difference if he knew, non?" the other said with a shit-eating grin.

"What are you--"

"Nobody will tell you this but yourself, mon ami," the other said, putting both hands on his shoulders this time. "You need to start seeing the beauty outside of your dark little world."

France snorted before slapping both of his hands away and giving him the finger. He then walked back to his kitchen.

"Oh what's this? Is mon petit chat noir retreating from the beauty of raw truth?"

"Nique to--" France stopped as his crow Rene flopped down on his windowsill. He'd sent his pet earlier to follow the other England just to be on the safe side. If he were safe, the crow should've come home with them. That means England's been caught. _Merde._

"What's the matter?" his counterpart asked light-heartedly. 

"Rene," France called, and his crow came fluttering down on his arm.

"Oh! Is this your Pierre?" his counterpart inquired, curious. "How macabre, mon cher."

"Rene will take you to the underground catacombs," France explained, turning to his counterpart. "Get as far away from here as possible." 

The other's brows drew together. "Pourqo--"

"Angleterre is coming."

* * *

 

"Why does he hate him so much anyway?" England mused. He'd already stopped struggling after realising that his taffy binding isn't something he can magick or struggle his way out of.

"You don't want to know," said Flying Chocolate Bunny, chewing through his magical taffy encasing. At least his England had the decency not to enclose him inside a gobstopper this time. "Don't you hate your France just as much?" 

"I hate France, But I don't think I hate him that much...not with that intensity."

"Hmmmm."

"Was it really that bad?"

"Not as bad as wars or anything like that. More of a personal assault."

"What kind?" 

Flying Chocolate Bunny exhaled. Eating through magical taffy was tough work--mostly because it was reinforced to the strength of a duct tape and can't be magicked away. "I wasn't there when it happened, but, well, Arthur ended up murdering a few dozen carrots that night after their meeting."

"Oh. Is that bad?"

"Well, he was crying," he said, going back to chewing on the taffy.

There was a lengthy pause. "Does this have anything to do with a marriage proposal?"

He stopped and looked up at his fellow captive. "It happened to you too, huh? I'm surprised you don't hate him."

"Mine might've happened a little differently from his, I think," England muttered. "France proposed to me with a large diamond ring and I rejected him. End of story." 

"Oh," Flying Chocolate Bunny's eyes widened. "Well, at least your France is more decent, I guess. The France here thought it would be great to prank Arthur with a marriage proposal, and then later on tell everyone that he would rather marry a lollipop instead."

"A...lollipop?"

"Because it doesn't talk."

"Oh. That's...That's cruel."

"Tell me bout it."

Something broke the window, and both of them looked at that direction. Flying Mint Bunny carefully flew in through the broken glass.

"Mint!"

"Great. The stupid one is here," Flying Chocolate Bunny grumbled.

"I heard that," his green counterpart said, already cutting through the taffy that held the other captive, using a paring knife.

"Mint, we don't have time. You have to use magic," the nation said.

"I can't. I'm out," Flying Mint Bunny said, finally tearing through the taffy that held one of his arms, and then giving the knife to him. "I used the last bit I have to break the ward. I was just lucky that Oliver let up on the warding."

"Great, now get me out of here," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, wiggling.

"I'll have to send Norway a message then. I'm sure he'll be able to get us out of here without that much problems," the nation grunted, freeing his other arm as Flying Mint Bunny tried to help him out of his predicament. "Oliver should already be at the other France's now."

"Your France should be safe," Flying Chocolate Bunny grunted as Flying Mint Bunny helped him with his taffy encasing. "France has a way of detecting Arthur whenever he's near. I'm sure he would've already thought of something to get the other France away."

"You know him too well," the nation grunted, freeing one leg.

Flying Chocolate Bunny frowned. He wished he didn't, actually.

"How do we find him?"

Flying Chocolate bunny hummed. After France lost his gate, the only kind of magic left that could be done in France was apparition and a few potion tricks. No point in just randomly poofing up everywhere and wasting energy if you didn't know the location. There was only one way to track him down. "If we're going to look for the other France, the safest bet is with Rene."

"Who's Rene?"

"The crow. He's the best at finding France."


	18. Chapter 18

France picked at the satin ribbon his counterpart had tied his hair with, after attacking his scalp mercilessly with a brush. (Where both came from, he'll never know.) For someone who was supposed to be weaker in this world, he had enough strength to wrestle him to the ground in an effort to make him look 'presentable' for England. The other England was right. This France is a fucking idiot.

It didn't matter though, all he got to 'fix' was his hair and nothing more. France had been able to throw him off before he turned him into a groomed poodle. Before he left he had been shouting something about smiling and flattery or some other nonsense, and reminding him that he was la pays de l'amour. _Hah._ Did he really think he'd go with his plan of romancing England to convince him to leave the plan altogether? He had already made up his mind. He was going to beat England shitless until he came to his senses.

France lit his cigarette and turned on his radio. It was going to be a long day, he was sure. The least he could have was a bit of music.

 _\--Presley. This song is called 'It Wouldn't Be The Same Without You'._  A ballad started playing on the radio.

France cringed his nose. It was one of those Anglophile stations that were always playing the American songs. It was just his luck that he turned the radio on during Presley hour.

 _I could wander the byway,_ rewander _too_  
 _But it wouldn't be the same without you_  
 _Those_ familiair _old places would just make me blue_  
 _'Cause it wouldn't be the same without you~_

It didn't sound much like Elvis Presley at all. At least from those he's already heard. Then again, the American was a fairly new musician. He would have turned the knob to turn it off, but several knocks on his door prevented him from doing so.

France opened the door ajar a little to see who his visitor was. No surprises there--England was standing outside, posture tensed.

_I wasted my love on a careless romance~_

"I believe you have something of mine," England said, with a tight smile.

_But I'd do it again, if I had the chance_   
_I could start my life over with somebody new~_

France hummed, pretending to think about it. "Non, sorry," he said, and then started to close the door.

_But it wouldn't be the same without you~_

England held it open with his open palm. "Well aren't you _funny_ ," he said with a forced smile.

_I wasted my love on a careless romance~_

"I aim to please."

_But I'd do it again, if I had the chance_   
_I could start my life over with somebody new~_

France parried the direct jab England had delivered just in time. It was unusual for England to try to attack him head on with that bread knife he calls a dagger. Especially when France has his rapier in hand. "You're feisty today."

_But it wouldn't be the same without you~_

"I'm not in the mood for your jeering," England snarled and pushed him away from the door.

France fell back a few steps, but was instantly on guard again. The radio started with a new song, just as slow as the first one.

_Love me tender~_   
_Love me sweet~_

England equally held his dagger up. "France? Darling?" France's brows rose in confusion at first, but then he realised England wasn't talking to him. "I'm here to take you home!"

_Never let me go~_

"He's not here," France said with a scowl.

_You have made my life complete~_   
_and I love you so~_

"No need to fret, poppet. You can come out now." France noticed the slight twitch in one giant eyebrow, signalling that he didn't like the music playing in the radio.

_Love me tender~_   
_love me true~_

France decided then that the radio will not be turned off. "I told you, he's not here. You can search the place if you want."

_For my darlin' I love you~_   
_and I always will~_

England scowled at him, lowered his weapon and ran to the kitchen.

France rolled his eyes and followed behind him. Might as well see the fool lose his mind trying to find his new toy. At least he'd be entertained for a little while.

_Love me tender~_

"France?" England was looking around frantically for him, behind the fridge and under the table. "France, dear? Please come out."

_Love me long~_   
_take me to your heart~_

France dug his nails in his forearms as he watched England carefully pick through his kitchen with the same frantic angry energy, and actually ending up organising his kitchen a little bit in the process. Who the hell does that? He probably didn't even know he was doing it.

_For it's there that I belong~_   
_and we'll never part~_

He would've laughed at the stupidity of it all. On a normal day. But not today. Because that would show that he was fond of it even though he's supposed to furious at it. Whatever 'it' was. And that would be proving the other dumber him right.

_Love me tender~_   
_love me dear~_

"Y-Your eyes are as...vibrant...as the rainbow on a gasoline puddle," he muttered quietly.

_Tell me you are mine~_

England stopped searching and looked at him, wide-eyed.

 _Merde. He heard me._  France flushed and looked away. He glared at his sink. Merde alors. His dumber self got to him after all. His sink was taking a turn for the yellowish and cracked--maybe he shouldn't carelessly dump his dirty dishes in it after all.

_I'll be yours through all the years~_   
_till the end of time~_

_Love me tender~_   
_Love me true~_

England went back to looking for his prisoner. "France! I know you're here somewhere! Let's play hide and seek somewhere much more pleasant."

_And I always will~_

France's eye twitched at that. He knows his flat isn't that impressive, but he didn't have to put it that way. The next song that started on the radio was much more upbeat this time.

England brushed past him and started to rummage through the living room. "France?" He picked up a half-eaten sandwich with a cigarette stubbed on it and then gave him a disapproving look.

_You know I can be found~_   
_Sitting home all alone~_   
_If you can't come around~_

"Don't look at me, my ashtray was full."

_Don't be cruel~to a heart that's true~_

England chucked it at the bin across the room and went to France's bedroom. "France! Please!"

He asked himself why England had made it his business to fix his apartment and look for his captive at the same time. He dug his fingers deeper into his elbow feeling a little confused. It was a feeling he thoroughly disliked, but he seems to find himself in that state most of the time. France followed behind him and then leaned on his doorway, scratching his chin. "Are you and this other France playing house?"

England looked under his blanket. "Never you mind."

_Baby, if I made you mad~_

"Oh okay," France said, putting on hand on his hip. "I guess I shouldn't care either that you're trying to replace me with him, huh?"

_For something I might have said~_

"Yes," England said flippantly, checking under his bed.

 _Please,_ lets _forget the past!_

"What the fuck is your problem?" France snapped, finally annoyed.  _There we go._  "Why are you angry at me anyway?"

_The future looks bright ahead!_

"I'm not angry," England growled.

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true._

"Oh desolee. How silly of me to think that you were."

_I don't want no other love~_

England went back to his searching. "France!"

_Baby it's just you I'm thinking of._

"He's not fucking here, okay?" France yelled. "He's not going back with you, he's going home!"

_Don't stop thinking of me~_

England lunged at him, just as he'd expected, and he maneuvered them so that England's wrists were pinned against the wall as the other struggled against his grasp, furious.

_Don't make me feel this way,_   
_Come on over here and love me,_   
_You know what I want you to say._

"Why are you angry?" he demanded.

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true._

England didn't answer and tried to pull away. It took a lot for France to just hold him against the wall.

 _Why should we be apart?_  
 _I really love_ you _baby, cross my heart._

"Let go of me," England roared.

_Let's walk up to the preacher~_

"I'm only asking you one more time," France struggled to hold him there. "Why are you angry at me?"

_And let us say I do~_

"What does it matter? I'm nothing to you, right?" England shouted back. "Even a lollipop is better than me!"

_Then you'll know you'll have me~_   
_And I'll know that I'll have you~_

France's eyes widened in surprise. England took this opportunity and shoved him onto the bed, before making his escape. Fortunately, France was quicker, and tackled him to the ground before he even reached the door.

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true~_

England tried to wrestle his way out of his grasp, but France held fast, straddling him. "He doesn't want to be with you!" he yelled at him. "Don't you see what you're doing?"

_Don't be cruel to a heart that's true~_

"Get off!" England roared back, trying to claw his eyes out.

"Angleterre!" he shouted, trying to catch the other's flailing arms.

_I don't want no other love~_

"Let go!" the other shouted again, his balled fist catching on France's jaw. He wasn't going to just sit there and listen to reason. There was only one thing to do.

_Baby it's just you I'm thinking of~_

France finally caught his arms and pinned them above his head with his rapier.

England screamed in pain as the blade pierced both his hands. He shrieked in pain before he started crying.

France was taken aback at that. He hasn't seen the man cry for a long time.

"France..." England sobbed almost pitifully as his palms bled. "France..."

Despite himself, he felt an overwhelming feeling of guilt. The last time he'd seen him like this...well. Merde. He can't even remember. But he was sure it was a long time since he saw him cry this desperately. Did his stupid clone really mean that much?

_...I hope you've all enjoyed that wonderful song by Monsieur Presley..._

England continued hiccuping and sobbing underneath him, utterly defeated.

"I'm sorry," he said solemnly.

_...is number one in the American charts..._

The other continued to weep onto his own shoulder, body racking in sobs.

"Not just for doing that to your hands but," he gnashed his teeth. He wasn't supposed to be apologising. "I'm sorry for whatever it is I did to make you angry."

 _\--_ song _not as popular by Monsieur Presley! Here is 'I'll Never Stand In Your Way'._  A slow ballad started to waft through the speaker.

England opened a bloodshot eye at him, tears still streaming down his face.

France ran his fingers through his hair. What the hell is he doing? "I mean it."

England looked away from him again and was overcome with silent heart-wrenching sobs this time.

France exhaled, and felt his cheeks redden. "I felt...terrible when you were ignoring me. I thought. Well. I felt. What I mean to say is...I felt...lonely... while you were away."

_If you found someone new who means more than me to you~_

England looked at him warily, as if he didn't believe him. He couldn't blame him, honestly.

He rubbed the back of his neck, getting irritated at Elvis Presley in the background seemingly following him. "I know you want to replace me with the other France because...well, who wouldn't want him, right? He's clean, nice, good-looking and he can cook. Plus he does all that romantic garbage all the time. And he never does anything to hurt you. How can I ever compete with that, right? It's not like I want to hurt you but..." That's the only thing he was ever good at, isn't it?

England's sobs were starting to subside, but he was still hiccuping.

_If you feel we must part, don't let pity rule your heart~_   
_I'll never stand in your way~_

Despite himself, he was suddenly assaulted by his recent memory of England crying in relief as he nearly smothered him to death with a desperate hug, blubbering about how he thought he'd lost his friend and how thin he'd gotten and did the Nazis hurt you's as France tried weakly to throw him to the other side of the room. Has he ever thanked him personally after that?

_I love you much too much to ever lose you~_   
_But what is to be will be and I'll obey~_   
_I'll be blue when you go~but I'll never~let it show~_   
_I'd never stand in your way~_

France glared up at his radio, eye twitching.

_I love you much too much to ever lose you~_   
_But what is to be will be and I'll obey~_   
_I'll be blue when yo--_

France grabbed his pistol from his hip and shot the radio several times until it stopped playing the song. _Blasted American songs._  The instant silence was a blessing, even if he had to waste bullets. And buy a new radio. He looked back at England and saw him looking at him with wide, confused eyes. Well, France did cherish that radio it saw him through the second world war, after all.

He felt pain on the bridge of his nose. "Zut alors," he muttered, and with a shaky hand, jerked his rapier away, freeing England's hands, and then threw it across the room. He felt awfully crummy. He wasn't supposed to feel this bad. "If he means that much to you, then go get him. You have my consent. I'll switch with him." He stood up turned, and walked away from England.

He took the bottle of wine standing on top of his damaged coffee table and took a large gulp, willing his eyes to stay dry. "He's with Rene. He should be somewhere underneath Paris."

After a few moments of silence, he heard the door slam.

France sighed and sniffed before taking another swig. He hopes the other world has better wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvis Presley songs:  
> It Wouldn't Be The Same Without You  
> Love Me Tender  
> Don't be cruel  
> I'll Never Stand In Your Way
> 
> If you noticed that the king was a bit clairvouyant, it's because he's the king.


	19. Chapter 19

France walked through he tunnels he knew too well, with Rene the crow flying in front of him. He doesn't really spend that much time in the catacombs, but he knew it like the back of his hand.

"This is stupid," he grumbled. "Does he expect that I don't know my own capital? I used these tunnels in the war!"

Rene squawked as if to answer him and switched directions.

"And he speaks as though Angleterre is so dangerous." He didn't see the point, really. If this world's England was any similar to the England he was used to, then he would definitely get lost within the first ten metres in the catacombs. To walk deep into its underbellies for such a purpose was ridiculous.

His guide remained quiet as he navigated through the tunnels.

"And he says he doesn't need my coaching!" France exclaimed. "Bah! You've heard his pick-up lines, non? They are terrible! How does he expect to win Angleterre's love with such crude vulgarity? Mon dieu!" He exhaled, frustrated. "If you ask me, it would go much more smoothly if I were somewhere near there to coach him. I don't trust him to follow my instructions at all!"

Rene began to slow down as he waited for France to go through the narrower tunnel ahead. France groaned and started to squeeze through, thoughts still on how his other self must be doing.

He pursed his lips. If he didn't think that the two needed privacy for their conversation, he wouldn't have left in the first place. Now that he thought about it more, maybe he shouldn't have left at all. Seeing as how his other self seemed to be hell-bent on denying his feelings for the sake of his silly philosophy, maybe it was better to just have stayed and facilitated their conversation.

_He probably didn't even listen to me. The idiot._

The narrow tunnel finally ended, making way to something more human-sized. He sighed as he jumped down, and looked at his surroundings, at the signatures of his people, people who've already died.

One out-of-place graffiti caught his eye, however.

France trudged towards the rather crude charcoal drawing of a penis on the wall, in silent horror. Who dares to dishonour his people so? He looked down at the sketched scrotum to see an elegant signature at the bottom.

 _Francis Bonnefoy_ , it read, mocking him not only with the name of the artist, but also the eerie similarity of the signature with his own.

" _Salaud_ ," he snarled at the signature, fists trembling in anger. France put down his gas lamp and began to rub at the vadalism frantically in an effort to erase it.

"Is this what he does all day instead of fixing himself? Vadalising?" he growled, rubbing his lacey nightgown at the wet wall of the catacomb. "He has the maturity of a pre-pubescent miscreant." _Must that man_ ruin _everything beautiful about me?_

The crow must've realised that he wasn't following it anymore and flopped down on his head, as if to see what he was doing.

France ignored the bird perched on his head. He stopped rubbing his sleeve on the wall and to see if he had erased it properly. He didn't.

The crow squawked. France thinks it is laughing at him right now.

France grit his teeth as he glared at the offending sketch on the wall. It didn't matter that it was his own genitals he was seeing, but the fact that he had drawn it here--where young ladies had written their signatures--

The man was crude. _A crude barbarian unworthy of the name of France._

He turned his attention to the floor, searching and saw a wet piece of charcoal lying innocently in the nearby corner of the tunnel. He bent down and picked it up.

"Two can play at this game," he swore, as he started to draw.

* * *

  
"It's my first time here," Flying Chocolate Bunny mumbled, surveying his surroundings. Being a more above-ground fairy, this wasn't the most ideal place for him. However, his meetings with the dwarves did let him grow used to below-ground activities like they said he should be.

The maze was musky and dark, with charcoal scribbles on the walls, almost like a sewer, but instead it was a tomb.

"Me too!" Flying Mint Bunny said, neon in colour (as he was providing the light for them) doing loops in the air.

"Oy, stop that," Flying Chocolate Bunny hissed at him before turning back to the other England. It was his idea to go down to the catacombs, because he said that's where France would usually hide in times of trouble. Apparently, only France seems to know the underbellies of this labyrinth by heart.

If the other France really is below ground, then Rene probably wouldn't be here too. Birds aren't particularly fond of places where they can't see the sky.

The man in question brushed off dust on his pants and looked at him. "Can you sense France here?"

"No," Flying Chocolate Bunny mumbled. "Are you sure he'd go here?"

"Positive," the other England said, starting to walk down the tunnel, Flying Mint Bunny perching on his shoulder. "He knows it's a weakness for invaders in Paris. He knows I'd be lost here."

Flying Chocolate Bunny huffed and followed them as they walked. "I don't really see that France going around in these tunnels."

"He doesn't, usually," England admonished. "But he does when he has to. War has its necessities."

Flying Chocolate Bunny nodded and surveyed the area in what little light his counterpart provided. He could clearly see France in these catacombs, wasting away with his liqueurs as he thought about dark things. Flying Chocolate Bunny never liked him. He was always a sullen child. He was so different from jolly England. Why his friend had pined so longingly for companionship from such a depressed man, he could never understand. Why he pines so foolishly for the man's reflection is only marginally understandable. He doesn't really see the appeal in France at all, regardless of time or dimension.

His gaze fell on a small black feather lying on the floor a few yards ahead and he swooped down on it.

"What's the matter?" the other England asked, catching up to him.

"This is Rene's," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, taking a whiff of the feather. It wreaked of France. He cringed his nose. Judging by the strength of the smell, it was still new. "Rene is here." At last, a lead.

"The crow?" the other England asked.

Flying Chocolate Bunny looked up straight ahead. There was only one path. The clue, at least, confirms that the crow is here. And that crow was their ticket to finding their target.

"Let's go."

* * *

  
He was already quite far from his precious wall doodle. France rubbed at his fingertips. They were very black from the wet charcoal. He had forgotten how wet charcoal tends to stick much better to skin. It's also probably because he actually used the entire chalk up until it was only his dirty fingers he was working with.

He exhaled. Hopefully, his art would wake his other self up. He knows he probably wanders around these parts in his free time. Maybe he even wanders around when it's time to work. He probably does. He would probably see it. Yes, he probably would.

France smiled to himself. Oh, if only he could see his face once he realizes what he's done to his precious tag.* If his assumptions are right, the other France would be too obstinate to consider scrubbing it off the wall. Hopefully, at least.

"Why, if his Angleterre sees that work of art, he will fall straight into his arms without question," France mused out loud to the crow, who just continued to glide in front of him down the pathway.

"You are lucky, cheri," he told the bird, for want of a conversation, "to have seen me while I work on my art. Why, the ladies in Paris often beg me to see me in action."

Rene suddenly stopped moving forward and France almost crashed into him.

"What's the matter?"

The crow flapped down to his shoulder and let him hear it. Footsteps.

France hid against the wall. _Merde_. He wished he had a gun, or a knife, at least to protect himself with.

The footsteps grew louder. France realised that whoever it was, he was obviously sprinting.

* * *

  
"Are you sure it's this way?"

"I'm sure," Flying Chocolate Bunny grunted. "I can smell that dirty crow go here." He had finally caught the scent after a few minutes of zooming through the tunnels.

England furrowed his brows. "How could you even--"

"Oh I can smell Pierre the same way too," Flying Mint Bunny chirped. "But he usually smells like lily perfume."

"What?" he asked, bewildered.

"Yeah well this one doesn't." Flying Chocolate Bunny swerved into another tunnel and England almost slipped and fell at the sudden change of direction.

"Don't slow down, Oliver," he snapped. "They're close."

England didn't slow down, but Flying Chocolate Bunny was admittedly a fast flyer. "What will we do about the other France? I doubt he will--"

"I'll take care of it," Flying Chocolate Bunny answered begrudgingly, as though he didn't intend to do anything about it in the first place. "What's important is you take care of your France. You still remember how to do it?"

England nodded. "Yes." He oddly remembered the first time he came into this world, with Flying Chocolate Bunny and a dwarf barking orders at him him as if he were some knave. He frowned at that. He hasn't used the spell in a while, but he thinks he can do it without any problems.

"Don't wait for the three day grace period to end," Flying Chocolate Bunny said, swooping into the corner quickly. "After that you won't be able to get rid of them."

"I know."

* * *

  
_I'm sorry for whatever it is I did to make you angry._

England brushed the clean part of his sleeves against his eyes, hiccuping as he sprinted around the labyrinth that was underneath Paris. It probably wasnt the best way to navigate around the place since he got lost the last time he entered this maze, but right now, he couldn't care less.

_I felt...terrible when you were ignoring me._

He shook his head as he hiccupped. No, it was a lie. It had to be. How many times had he yelled at England to leave him alone? How many times had he pushed him out of his life desperately? How many times had he shown that he didn't want him there? That he'd rather disappear from existence than see him anywhere near him?

_I felt...lonely... while you were away._

He gasped for air and wiped at is face roughly. It can't be true. None of it is.

_How can I ever compete with that, right? It's not like I want to hurt you but..._

He slowed down, letting the tears pour down his eyes freely. He clutched his pant legs tightly in his hands.

_If he means that much to you, then go get him._

He sniffed and rubbed roughly at his eyes, frustrated. Why was it like this?

_You have my consent. I'll switch with him._

Why did it feel like the world had completely given up on him now that he was getting what he wants? He hiccuped, and put a hand against his quivering lips. Why does it feel like his heart is shattered?

_Because that's not at all what you wanted in the first place._

He licked his lips, tasting his tears and then wiping them away with the back of his shirt sleeve.

_...you wanted to pretend he's the other France being nice to you for a change._

His sobs renewed. He finally stopped running and dropped on his knees. The small wisp of light he had hastily conjured up died, shrouding him in semi-darkness. His eyes started to ache as tears rolled down unabated.

"Angleterre?"

His eyes cracked open, and although his vision was already blurred in tears, he saw France standing a few feet away from him, holding a gas lamp, hands dirty with soot and a crow perched on his shoulder.

_Why do you look so much like him?_

He ran and caught France in a tight embrace, burying his face on the other's shoulder, upsetting Rene, who flew up and off France's shoulder before he got crushed by England's sobbing face.

France tensed in surprise at first and then wrapped his arms around him too. Rene squawked indignantly, pulling at England's waistcoat with his beak.

England's sob as well as his embrace intensified.

"Rene, arrÍte," France ordered softly. Rene seemed to understand and flew away somewhere, letting England hug France in peace.

"Angleterre?" he asked gently, putting a hand on the back of his head. "What's wrong?"

England shook his head and continued to rest it on the other France's comforting shoulder.

"Tell me, mon chou," France cooed.

England just held him tighter. _I'm so confused._

"Did he hurt you? Did he say mean things again?"

He shook his head and continued to sob. _All I ever do is hurt him. No wonder he says mean things all the time. No wonder he never loved me back. I should be the one to disappear._

"Angleterre," France muttered, voice laced heavily with concern. "What did he do to you?"

 _He showed me how stupid I've been all this time._  England swallowed and steeled himself. "France...?"

"Yes?" the other asked, stroking his hair.

He inhaled deeply. "I'll take you back to your world whenever you want."

France's body tensed in his embrace. "Angleterre?"

England reluctantly released the other man from his embrace. He looked at him, trying to keep a straight face. He has to do this. And if he's going to do this, he has to do it properly. He owes this man that much. This man--this man who had let him live his selfish fantasy, this man who didn't deserve to get caught up in his selfishness--

He swallowed and looked determinedly at France's bewildered face. This sweet, sweet man would be out of his life forever--if the other England had any say in it. And even if he didn't...well...

"Thank you for e-everything you've done for me. I'll t-take you back to your world. If that's what you want."

* * *

  
France blinked at him, dumbfounded. Just a few minutes ago, he had thought his other unrefined self had screwed up completely, when he saw this England curled up crying on the floor. Apparently, whatever it was he had done, it worked. Hopefully, however, he went according to France's instructions.

"I've been dumped, non?" France joked with a self-depreciating smile.

The other began to sputter. "N-No! It's just that--it's just that--I-I-I think--you belong w-with--"

"It's okay, mon ami. No need to explain," France laughed. Both Englands were still the same in a lot of aspects. He wondered briefly if this other England's personality was just a facet of England's personality that he hasn't yet seen--one that he is determined to discover himself. "I'm just sour that I've been rejected by two Angleterres in less than a year."

The other England started to cry again, raising his bloodied hand to wipe away his tears. "I'm going to miss you, F-France."

"As will I, mon ami," France said, kissing him on the forehead before the information sank in and he yanked the other's hands in front of him to see the deep wounds on the other's palm. He inhaled, furious. "What has that brute done to you?"

The other sniffed, face breaking into a sad smile. "D-Don't worry about it! I deserved it--"

France fumed. That _brutish idiot_. After he had given explicit instructions to be gentle with England, he goes and punctures the man's hands! "This is unacceptable!" he snarled.

"F-France--"

"Has he not been schooled at all? Is he some street ruffian who--"

"It doesn't hurt!" England said, curling his fingers and trapping France's hands in his. "It will heal soon, don't worry!"

France looked up at him, scowling. "Don't be ridiculous! He will not get away with what he has--"

Before he knew it, the other had caught him in a tight embrace yet again.

"I'll miss you so much," he sobbed, holding France tightly against him.

France smiled sadly in return and hugged him back. "I will too. But you can always drop by when you visit our world again, non?"

Surprisingly, England just sobbed harder.

* * *

  
England heard sobbing. It was coming from one of the tunnels where light was spilling out from. It wasn't France's sob. No. Not it wasn't. His heart hammered in his chest both from the running and from trepidation.

He turned the corner and saw the couple up ahead, locked in a mutual loving embrace. England held onto Flying Chocolate Bunny's leg, preventing him from swooping at the couple ahead.

"What are you doing?" it hissed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. "We can still separate them, it's not too late!"

"No," England said quietly, feeling his heart sink.

Flying Mint Bunny looked up at him. "England?"

"I'm too late." He hated that his voice cracked.

"What are you talking about?!" Flying Chocolate Bunny roared at him.

This caught the couple's attention.

"Angleterre! Where have you been?" France scolded him, marching towards him with his counterpart in tow. "Look at what that brute did to poor Oliver!" He brandished his bloodied healing hand at him.

"France, dear, my name is Arthur."

"I see," England said quietly, looking at it.

France noticed it. "Angleterre? Are you all right?"

He just nodded, before looking at his injured self. "I'll do the spell. There's no need to talk to the Soviet Union. But I'm almost out of magic so I'll need to go back home to regenerate first."

"What?" Flying Chocolate Bunny exclaimed.

"England!" Flying Mint Bunny yelled.

The other England merely blinked at him in shock. "R-Really?"

France on the other hand, slapped him hard across the cheek. "What are you saying, you idiot?"

England cradled his assaulted cheek, woken up from his ~~heartbreak~~  thoughts. "I'm doing what you want, you fucking ponce!"

"That's not at all what I want! Who's going to take care of my house when I'm gone? What's going to happen to Pierre?"

"Let the other France worry about that then!" England shouted back.

The other England cleared his throat. "Erm...actually, he's staying here. This France is going back home."

England looked at them both, confused. "Wot?"

"You heard him!" France snapped at him. "Mon dieu, I miss my wine back home. I haven't had any in three months!"

England looked at his counterpart first, and then at France, confused. "I--you--I--"

"I'll take both of you to the Henge myself," the other England said with a kind smile. "It wouldn't be so hard to transport all three of you back, I believe."

"Yay!" Flying Mint Bunny cheered.

England levelled his counterpart with a look. His counterpart gave him a shaky smile.

"Erm...Oliver, you can let go of him now," the other England said, gesturing to Flying Chocolate Bunny.

England snapped out of it and released the creature's leg immediately. "Right. Sorry."

Flying Chocolate Bunny immediately flew to the other England's shoulder and nestled against his neck.

"Did you enjoy the taffy, love?"

"Don't do that again," it grumbled.

The other England chuckled and stroked its wings.


	20. Chapter 20

The air was incredibly cold at the Henge. It was kind of lonely too, seeing as how Mint was nowhere to be seen (not that he ever saw him in the first place) and he was staunchly keeping his distance from the gatekeeper who had tried to gore them the last time they tried to use the Stonehenge to get back home. The freezing cold breeze brushed against him and he shivered in his thick night gown. There was virtually nowhere warm to go into, and he would've cuddled against England if he hadn't asked to privately talk with his other self.  
  
France watched as the two Englands were talking, the other England looked incredibly tired and even more depressed. They've been talking for a few minutes now.  
  
"What are they talking about?" he mumbled to himself as he rubbed his upper arms.  
  
"Just leave them be. They need to talk," a sweet voice said on the left side of his head, making France jump.  
  
"Menthe," he chided. "Warn me when you are there, won't you?"  
  
"Sorry," it said, and France felt something soft and fluffy on his shoulder.  
  
He turned his attention back to the two, however, seeing the other England crying profusely now as his England talked to him. His shoulders tensed. _What is Angleterre doing to him?_  
  
He started to march over to them.  
  
"France! Leave them be!" Flying Mint Bunny insisted, and France felt a lock of his hair being pulled the other way.  
  
France winced and groped the air blindly for the fairy pulling at his gorgeous locks. He groped something fluffy and closed both hands on it.  
  
Flying Mint Bunny yelped as he was caught, and France loosened his grip a little just so he wouldn't get hurt. He then continued to march towards the two Englands.  
  
"France, stop!" the trapped fairy yelled in his hands before France was knocked down to the ground by something that equally fluffy.  
  
"Flying Chocolate Bunny!" he heard the other England cry.  
  
France stayed on the ground, still processing what just happened. He wasn't hurt, mostly because the snow he fell on wasn't that hard yet.  
  
The sweeter crying England's face swam into his vision. "France! Are you okay?"  
  
France sat up, still holding his invisible friend in his hands. "I'm all right, mon ami," he said, smiling at the crying England.  
  
The crying man teared up some more before locking his neck in an embrace.  
  
In surprise, France let go of Mint and embraced the other man back, rubbing comforting circles on his back and cooing at him to stop crying.  
  
His England came into view, scowl in place and arms crossed on his chest.  
  
France glared at him as he held the other man. "What have you done to him?" he hissed.  
  
"We were just talking," England snapped back at him.  
  
France held the crying heap in his arms and pouted at England.. "Fine then. Leave us. I wish to speak to him alone."  
  
England looked apprehensive at first before throwing up his arms in surrender and giving them their privacy.  
  
"Mon chou," he said gently to the crying man in his arms. "It's all right, the bad man is gone."  
  
The other England straightened up, hiccuping. "O-Oliver's not a b-bad man..."  
  
France chuckled. "Is it in your habit to champion people who hurt you, mon chou?" he asked, wiping the other's tears away with care.  
  
"H-He wasn't..."  
  
"Oui," France said, smiling. "I get it, I get it." He was stubborn in his own way, much like England. He sighed and removed the ribbons from his frilly shirt.  
  
"F-France? W-What are you doing?"  
  
France had taken out almost all of the ribbons on his shirt. Oh well. He had already lost one ribbon earlier when he used it to tie the other France's hair anyway. What's a few more? "Give me your hands."  
  
The other England gave him a strange look first before offering his hands to him cautiously. France looked at the wounds still healing on the other's hands with disdain before he started wrapping his right hand up with the ribbons he'd collected.  
  
"F-France!" the other cried, hands trembling terribly.  
  
"Hold still, mon cher," France said quietly as he finished up one hand and started wrapping the other. "This will only take a few minutes."  
  
"Y-You don't n-need to do that!"  
  
"Oh let me," France said good-naturedly, concentration on the hand he was wrapping in ribbon. "It is my responsibility. After all, it was the other me who had done this to you."

"F-France..."  
  
France looked up at him as soon as he was finished, and saw tears dribbing down the other's cheeks--way more tears spilling than when this man was talking to his England. "A-Angleterre...are you all right?"  
  
The other England launched himself on France again, squeezing the life out of him and blubbering apologies and something about 'not seeing something before' or something like that. He was talking too fast for France to even comprehend what he was saying.  
  
"A-Angleterre, calm down."  
  
"I'm going to miss you so much!" the other sobbed.  
  
France embraced him back. "Hush, mon chou. My door is always open to you, bon?" He stroked the other's hair gently as the other just sobbed on his shoulder. "I think I have figured out something about both our worlds," he muttered quietly as he rubbed the other's back. "I think that we are not so different after all."  
  
The other's crying was starting to subside. France took it as a sign that he was listening intently to what he was saying.  
  
"You will do well to remember this, mon chou. I believe that the other me and I are very much the same person. At first I had thought that he was my opposite, but now I do not think so." He sighed. "When he is being uncouth with you, always remember that I am his other self, and therefore he is very much capable of love and kindness despite his harsh shell. There is more to him than meets the eye."  
  
"I-I know," the other England nodded on his shoulder, much calmer now.  
  
France was surprised at that answer, but decided not to prod. But it was good to know that the other France's mask cracked a couple of times in the past. "If you wish for it to flourish, take things slow. I don't know much about his experiences, but I am almost certain that his may have been much darker than mine."  
  
The other England straightened up, sniffing and wiping at his eyes, much calmer now.  
  
France cradled the other's face in his hands. "You are very important to him even if he refuses to show it," he said meaningfully. "Do not be sad and never lose hope. Remember that true love triumphs all, hmmm?" He wiped a stray teardrop from the other's cheek. "Now smile for me, Angleterre."  
  
A smile cracked on the other's sad tear-stained face.  
  
France smiled back. "Promise me you will take care of him?"  
  
The other England nodded in his hands, and France knew that he would keep his promise.  
  
"Are you two done lollygagging?"  
  
France looked up at his England who was glowering at both of them.  
  
"Of course, ol' chap," the other England said, standing up. "Sorry to keep you waiting."  
  
France was about to stand up when his England stuck his hand out to him. "Hurry up, frog. We don't have all night."  
  
He smiled and took the grumpy nation's hand gracefully. "Of course, mon amour."

* * *

  
The other line picked up. England held his breath as he clutched the phone to his ear. It was already late into the night. He had just gotten home. England didn't even fix himself a cuppa before trying to phone France. Although it would have been rude to call other people at this time, he knew that France would still be awake. Unfortunately, that didn't calm his nerves at all.  
  
Would he hate him? Of course he would, wouldn't he? No matter what good intentions he had, nothing would probably justify what he had done. If France hadn't said all of those things...well...maybe...maybe he would have still continued with his plan. He was a wretched friend, wasn't he? No wonder France hated him.  
  
He was almost about to put the phone back down when the other line crackled to life. "Allo...?"  
  
He gulped and steeled himself. It would be rude to just slam the phone back down, wouldn't it? Then again maybe France hated him too much to even hear his voice?  
  
France sighed wearily on the other line.  
  
"A-Ahoy hoy," England stammered, instantly regretting opening his mouth.  
  
There was silence. "Angleterre?"  
  
England curled in on himself, bracing himself for a scolding, and probably an end to a somewhat flimsy friendship he'd worked so hard on. "G-G-Good evening, France."  
  
France exhaled again, making England flinch. He knew he shouldn't have called. He shouldn't bother France at all. All he ever did was troubleso--"Is it time yet? Should I go there?"  
  
"H-Huh?" He didn't expect that question.

"For the switch."  
  
England's eyes widened. That's right, he hasn't told him about it yet, has he? "O-Oh. D-D-Don't worry about that! It's not happening anymore."  
  
There was a long pause. England didn't know what to make of it. "Hmmm? Why? Did sourcils win?"  
  
England gripped his phone a little tighter. "I...guess you could say that?" He laughed uneasily. "I escorted them back home."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yes." He tried to muster a smile despite the loud beating in his chest.  
  
"Did the other France refuse?"  
  
"Well, yes--"  
  
"He's a fool."  
  
England's eyes widened. What did he mean by that?  
  
"He could've had all my wine and cigarettes, but he chose to go back to his world. What an idiot."  
  
Did France just try to comfort him? England laughed cautiously, feeling warmth in his chest regardless. "That's true," he admonished, feeling his eyes go glassy. "But I was the one who told him that he belongs to his world. First, I mean."  
  
There was a silence between them again. A little more tense this time. "I see."  
  
England gripped the phone even tighter. Any more and maybe he could break it in half, he believes. "Y-Yes. W-We...We were both h-happy with the decision."  
  
"That's good then."  
  
"Yes," he agreed, clutching at his knee. "Yes, it was good."  
  
"Bon. Well, if that's all--"  
  
"I'm sorry!" England blurted out, tears escaping from his eyes. "I'm so sorry. It was stupid of me to make the decision on my own--"  
  
"It's okay I--"  
  
"--all I ever do is cause you trouble and I'm sorry--"  
  
"--I said it was okay--"  
  
"--if you don't want to see me ever again, I would understand--"  
  
"--will you just listen--"  
  
"--I'll limit all our encounters to strict--"  
  
"ANGLETERRE!"  
  
England clamped his mouth shut, feeling tears dropping from his chin, which he hastily wiped away with the back of his hand.  
  
"Dieu," France swore. "It's okay. Stop crying."  
  
England sniffed and wiped at his eyes. "I'm sorry."  
  
"And stop apologising."  
  
He just sniffed and covered his mouth to prevent him from saying anything.  
  
"The other France told me everything."  
  
His eyes widened. France did? He didn't know what to say.  
  
"What I want to know is...I want to hear it from you. Why?"  
  
England inhaled. "It's...I just thought that you...that you're always so sad. And you always seem to hate being here--there. I mean, in this world. And I can't seem to d-do anything to cheer you up. It's like all I ever do worsens your mood. S-So. So I thought. I thought that maybe you would be at least happier in the other world." _And maybe just this once I could pretend that you loved me back, even through another person._ "I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea and I shouldn't have--"  
  
"That's it?"  
  
"Y-Yes."  
  
France sighed again, making him wince. "It's not your duty to cheer me up."  
  
England nodded. Yes, of course. It's none of his business. Why doesn't he just keep to himself? _Stupidstupidstupid--_  
  
"And that's just my face. You don't worsen my mood. Not always, anyway."  
  
He clutched at his pant leg. "R-Really?"  
  
"Yes. I sometimes...enjoy...your company..."  
  
"Really?" England asked, smile erupting from his lips despite the tears.  
  
"Yes."  
  
He felt his cheeks heat up. He was smiling like a goof--a goof with snot in his nose and wet cheeks, but it doesn't matter. Nothing else matters.  
  
"So stop crying, all right?" England didn't know if he was imagining it, and maybe he is, but it was almost like there was a smile in France's voice. He could always hope.  
  
He nodded, and then remembered that he was talking on the phone and France wouldn't be able to see it. He laughed. "Yes. Yes of course."  
  
"Good."  
  
"France?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Did you mean it? What you said?"  
  
"You mean what I just said? Yes."  
  
"No. I meant--I meant what you said when we were at your apartment." _That you felt lonely when I wasn't there._  
  
France sighed again, but instead of the usual weary one, it was a more fond sort of sigh accompanied with a definite smile, and didn't that just make his heart soar? "Yes. All of it."  
  
England squealed, giddy. He'd never felt this giddy before. Not for a while now.  
  
"All right, all right, calm down--"  
  
"I love you!" he squealed.

France coughed. "I--that's--uhm..."  
  
That brought him down from his high. He didn't mean to blurt it out all of a sudden. _So much for taking it slow._ He flushed in embarassment. Of course France doesn't love him. "I-I. I mean. I was--I'm sorry, I--"  
  
"Angleterre."  
  
England sat up straight, still bright red at his accidental confession.  
  
"You're very important to me. You always have been."  
  
His heart skipped a beat. This was much much more than he'd hoped for.  
  
"And I...I would be lost without you. I can't really imagine what it would be like if you were gone."  
  
He felt his stomach flutter as if he'd swallowed butterflies. Hundreds of them. He found that he didn't mind it at all.  
  
"I--I'm not really sure how I feel about--about us. I don't want to carelessly call it love."  
  
"O-Okay," he said, wringing his fingers. He was so happy. He didn't know what to do with himself. "W-We can be friends?"  
  
"Bien sûr."  
  
He let out a squeak in excitement. "Best friends?"  
  
"Euhhh...yes."  
  
England would have rolled around in his living room right now in glee, but there were too many fragile figurines in there, so he sat on his couch, quivering with emotion.  
  
"I'm happy," he said, touching his cheek.  
  
"Me too."  
  
England felt warm all over. _Never lose hope._ "It's going to be Christmas soon."  
  
"Hmmm."  
  
"W-Would you like to spend Christmas here? I-If you're not busy?"  
  
The pause that came after the question made his heart hammer in his chest. Maybe he asked too soon? "Bien sur."  
  
England gushed. At this rate, his heart was going to go out of his chest and go to France.  
  
"Euh. Someone's knocking at the door. I'll call you back?"  
  
England pouted. He didn't want to end the call so soon, but if France is going to call back soon, then it's okay, right? "O-Okay, buddy. Bye!"  
  
"Bye." The line went dead.  
  
England set the phone back on the cradle, feeling warm and giddy all over. It was going to be a good Christmas.  
  
"How did it go?"  
  
England looked up at Flying Chocolate Bunny who was perched on the bookshelf. "Great! We're best friends now."  
  
"You should have done that _after_ you give him the potion."  
  
England pouted. "Then there would be no point in apologising! Besides, I wanted to see how he feels first. I couldn't help myself."  
  
Flying Chocolate Bunny rubbed at his cheek. "Once his memory is wiped, there's no guarantee he'll feel the same way."  
  
He did his best to foster a smile. "France isn't that fickle." _Remember that true love triumphs all._  
  
"I hope you're right," Flying Chocolate Bunny yawned, sounding unconvinced.  
  
England wrung his fingers. They were best friends now. And best friends protect each other, right? He nodded. Yes. Things were going to change for the better. No Unseelie Court was going to hurt his France. He made a promise, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I've been silent for a while. I'll reply to comments soon. Ehm. For those who are weak of heart, take this chapter as the ending. For those who can stand more angst and pain, see you guys in the next update. :)


	21. Chapter 21

He looked at the symbols he had drawn on his palm earlier that morning. It had taken him a full night to look up how to create a good artificial memory, and a story plausible enough for even France himself to believe. At least he doesn't have to memorise a long string on incantation with this spell.  
  
He rubbed at his eyes. He hasn't gotten any sleep. This is already the second day since they got home. He doesn't have much time left. He would have done it during the day but the only time France would stop hounding him is when he's asleep. Bastard.  
  
The kettle whistled. England trudged over to it. Tea will make him feel much better. He turned off the stove and grabbed the kettle. Perhaps what he should be more worried about was that France insisted on cuddling instead of sex on his second night. It was a strange request, coming from him of all people, when he can ask him anything.  
  
Arms were suddenly wrapped around his waist, almost making his hand slip and spill piping hot liquid.  
  
" _Oy_."  
  
"Bonjour, Angleterre," France purred, kissing the back of his neck and making him shiver all over.  
  
"Get off," he growled, elbowing France in the ribs, but the other man refused to let go.  
  
"You were out of bed too early. I'm claiming the morning cuddle you owe me."  
  
"I don't owe you anything," he grumbled, pushing his face away.  
  
France held his wrist out of the way and kissed him on the nose. "Hmmmm...didn't I tell you, no resisting last night?"  
  
England scowled at him.  
  
"No scowling either!"  
  
England just turned his attention back to his morning tea. "It's too damn early for you to be so randy."  
  
"I can't help it. I only get three days of this, non?"  
  
 _Actually, no._ He sighed. "And you're going to milk it for all it's worth?"  
  
"Exactement." Another kiss to the back of his neck.  
  
"Oy! Will you stop that?"  
  
"Not until you give me a proper morning kiss!"  
  
He sighed again, with a little smile this time, put the kettle down and turned around. France's lips were on his immediately. He held the other man's jaw with both hands and kissed him back, just so he'd shut up already.  
  
They both pulled back at the same time. "Satisfied?"  
  
France chuckled. "Now tell me you love me."  
  
England blushed profusely and half-heartedly tried to pry the other's arms from his waist. "Aren't you satisfied from last night?"  
  
"Non," he chuckled into his lips. "You have to say it like you mean it this time."  
  
"W-What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
France just stayed quiet, resting his chin on England's shoulder instead.  
  
" _Oy._ "  
  
"I thought you didn't care," the man said, embrace tightening.  
  
"After I went and saved your ungrateful arse from another world?"  
  
France chuckled. "I know the truth now," he purred.  
  
England felt his cheeks heat up even more.  
  
"And I know that you're capable of showing tender affection like Oliver."  
  
He sputtered. "You--"  
  
"Because he's another side of you. Just like the other France is another side of me," France continued, chuckling. "If you don't want to see me grow bitter and cold like the other France, maybe you should be nicer?"  
  
"Wouldn't that mean you'd turn out exactly lke him if I did that? Oliver's pampering him made him that much of a prick, I think." France flicked him on the back of his head. " _Oy_ ," he protested, flicking France in return.  
  
"I'm glad you appreciate me more now, at least," France chuckled, still not letting him go. "And stop being so mean to poor Oliver. What did you two talk about anyway?"  
  
"That's none of your business," England snapped.  
  
France hummed. "Do you think you could invite him over, rosbif? I'm starting to miss mon petit chou."  
  
England's brow twitched. _How come I get a slur and the other one gets an endearment?_  
  
France let him go so suddenly that England almost lost his footing. "Menthe...is that you?"  
  
He turned to where France had scampered on to and saw him on the breakfast table, ogling Flying Mint Bunny.  
  
"You can see me?" the fairy asked, bewildered.  
  
"You can see him?" England asked, equally surprised. _Not good._  
  
"Oui!" France said, all cheerful and smiles. "I didn't know you were so cute!" He stroked Flying Mint Bunny's fur fondly.  
  
England marched over to the other man, grabbed his wrist and turned him around to face him. _I don't have much time._

France looked back at him, wide-eyed and confused. "Angleterre?"  
  
"I'm only saying this once so listen up, frog," England growled at him, still holding his wrist in a vice-like grip. He inhaled and exhaled and looked into France's surprised blue eyes. "I love you."  
  
The blush on France's face was astounding. It was a surprise that he can still keep standing like that when all the blood in his body has rushed to his face and neck. Had he known that this would be the man's resulting reaction, he would've done this sooner.  
  
 _Better do it while he's stunned,_ he thought mournfully as he stepped closer and put his marked palm on the other's forehead.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said to a confused France before the man before him started glowing faint pink.  
  
France's jaw dropped open, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his memories were being tampered with.  
  
England clutched the other's forehead as France's knees started to buckle and his hands shot up to grab England's wrist in protest at the intrusion.  
  
"He's resisting," flying Mint Bunny whispered as he observed.  
  
"Of course he is," England grunted. It didn't matter, though. France didn't have the magic to counter his.  
  
"Are you sure you've read the spell instructions thoroughly this time?"  
  
"Yes," England snapped, not breaking his concentration. The spell was admittedly complex, but nothing beyond his reach. What he was more worried about is if his replacement story was believable not only to France but also to everybody else who had been looking for him.  
  
At last, the glow faded and the other man collapsed into his arms, unconscious. He exhaled, holding on to the other man. "It's done."  
  
"England?"  
  
"Wot?"  
  
"Couldn't you have said that when you know he'll remember?" Flying Mint Bunny asked, hovering over France. "I'm sure he'd want to hear it then."  
  
England just ignored him. "Oliver should have already removed the other France's memories by now." He rearranged France in his arms so it'd be easier to carry him. The fucking frog gained a little weight, it seems. "Have you informed the other gatekeepers?"  
  
"Yep," Flying Mint Bunny said flying to peer at France's unconscious face. "They all agreed. Oliver won't be able to use the other gates. And he won't be allowed to use ours without your permission. But they want to have a word with you first about your request and France's memory wipe."  
  
"Right," England muttered, not really expecting any less. The Seelie Court was made up of bureaucratic bastards, after all. _At least this won't happen again._ He bent down and put France over his shoulder.  
  
"What now?"  
  
France would be knocked out for 24 hours. He had time. His meeting with the fae should only last for around five hours at most. "I'm going to Dunkirk first, and then I'll go meet them."  
  
"Don't keep them waiting."  
  
"I know."

* * *

  
England held onto the box, hesitating. He put two tiny fairy cakes in it. One to wipe memories from the last two days and one to replace them. At least this way, he was sure that France would eat them both. Once France sleeps (because the potions do make people drowsy), it will start taking effect. "Flying Chocolate Bunny..."  
  
"Hmmmm?" his friend looked up at him, curious.  
  
"W-Would this change the way...the way France feels now?"  
  
"I'm not really sure. It could," Flying Chocolate Bunny said nonchalantly. "Who cares? He doesn't deserve you anyway."  
  
England frowned at him. Flying Chocolate Bunny has always hated France for some reason. He just can't see his charm the way he does.  
  
"I was joking," his friend said flatly, although it didn't sound like he meant it as a joke. "I really don't know what'll happen, but I do know that you have to wipe his memory soon or else. Besides, you've already made a replacement set of memories, right?"  
  
He bit his lip and didn't let go of the box. If it were up to him, he would have gone there himself and gave them to him personally. He only has one chance at this, after all. The Seelie Court had given him only one serving of dragon scales, enough for one memory wipe potion, under Flying Chocolate Bunny's appeal. He fidgeted. But it's not like France wouldn't eat the cupcakes. He quite likes the food England makes.  
  
"England. You're already running late. This isn't up for debate."

He knew that. He knew, but at the same time, he wanted to keep things as they were. Why waste a good thing? He and France had finally reached an accord where they're both happy. Maybe Eden wouldn't mind that he skips this meeting?  
  
"You know the Seelie Court has no jurisdiction on (e) class gates. The Unseelie Court will be on him once the reading fluctuation reaches the notice board."  
  
"I know," he said, pouting. _We're finally best friends._  
  
"Or you could let him keep his memory," Flying Chocolate Bunny said flippantly. "The Horde will come over and maybe just this once they won't try to harm anyone. Too much."  
  
He sighed, letting go of the box at last. It was for the best.  
  
Flying Chocolate Bunny flew on top of the box. "I'll be back soon. Don't worry so much."  
  
He mustered a smile and nodded. Flying Chocolate Bunny and the box disappeared in a puff of smoke. England sighed and put on his coat.  
  
 _The best I can do now is hope that everything will turn out okay._

* * *

  
France extracted another bullet from his poor destroyed radio. How many bullets did he shoot into this thing? At this rate, he'd probably really need to buy a new radio.  
  
The sound of knocking at the door woke him from his thoughts. France stood up and opened it, seeing nobody outside. Shaking his head, he closed the door. _Stupid kids._  
  
He sighed and looked out the window. It was a sunny winter's day today. There was a lone brown bird flying not so far from his building. France frowned. The bird should've already migrated. He squinted at the animal. _Wait...is that a flying rabbit...?_  
  
There were knocks on his door again. He blew the hair out of his face. Isn't it too early in the morning for kids to mess with him? He wrenched the door open, fully intending to shout at the kids making fun of him, but stopped short when he saw a petite young lady with long dark hair and glasses as thick as soda-pop bottles standing on the other side of his door. It was Renata, his personal assistant standing outside, holding a small box with pretty turquoise and light pink ribbons, with a small envelope on top.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"I saw it outside your door," she answered him back, smiling. "I think you may have an admirer."  
  
France snorted, took the box and went in, Renata following behind him and going straight to his kitchen, probably for a cup of coffee. He sat back on the couch and read the note.  
  
  
  
 _Dear Francis,  
  
I sent you some fairy cakes. I couldn't fit this fresh batch into the little box, so if you would like, perhaps you can come over? I simply can't eat all of these fairy cakes by myself. <3  
  
  
Your good buddy,  
Arthur_  
  
  
"Who's it from?" his assistant asked from the kitchen, curious.  
  
He flushed and closed the note immediately before she can see what was written inside. "Euh...a friend."   
  
"You have friends?" she joked lightly, coming into the living room and sitting on the couch next to him with a glass of water.  
  
"What kind of person do you think I am?" He opened the box and saw two small cupcakes inside, one with an icing cursive scribble of 'I'm sorry' on top and another with a heart-shaped icing on it. His lip curled into a lopsided smile, feeling a little bit of heat on his cheeks. It was probably England apologising for the whole mess. _Even after I told him to stop apologising._ He rubbed at the back of his neck, remembering the phone conversation last night, particularly the part where England blurted a confession. Well. Well, he can't honestly say that he didn't see it coming. Okay no. He was surprised at the timing of the confession, but he'd always had a feeling about it. Ever since England mistook him for a pretty girl in their youth. Hah. Well. He wasn't really one for reminiscing. It's not like he felt the sa--  
  
 _You only let the joke go that far because you were open to the thought of marrying him. Don't. Lie. To. ME._

He flushed, hand shooting up immediately to his scalp. He could have sworn that he felt the other France's harsh brushstrokes tearing through his locks. Where did that voice come from? He shuddered.  
  
"Euh...Monsieur Bonnefoy? Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine," he grunted. He pushed the thought away as he examined the cupcake. Hopefully, he didn't hurt England with his retreat. He can't handle that responsibility, even if he wanted to. He'd probably end up shattering England to pieces with his carelessness. It's all for the best. They're probably better off as friends. At least, that's something, right?  
  
Renata touched his face, cheeks blushing and expression strange. "You're in a good mood today."  
  
France turned away from her. He took the one with the 'I'm Sorry' icing and took a bite out of it. Hmmm...strawberry...with...something else in it that he can't quite place. He should bring something with him when he comes over to England tomorrow. And then maybe he'll tell him his new address. He didn't tell England about it yet, not until he gets the title for the house. It's better to tell him after he actually pushes through with the move.  
  
"Are you okay?" she asked him, a little concerned.  
  
"Ouais," he answered, offering the other tiny cupcake to her. "Why are you here too early anyway?"  
  
"Merci!" she chirped, taking the cupcake daintily from the box. "I came early because the title for the house came in my mail yesterday--"  
  
France raised a brow at her as she gaped at his radio. Oh.  
  
"What happened to your radio?"  
  
He scratched the back of his head and put the box down on his coffee table. "I shot it."  
  
"You _shot_ it? Why?"  
  
"You don't want to know," he mumbled, finishing the cupcake, and clapping the crumbs out of his hands. They were tiny today--how unlike England. Somehow he regretted giving the other to his assistant.  
  
She groaned. "No wonder you were looking for a new home. I won't be surprised if the landlord kicks you out soon." She handed him an envelope, presumably containing the title.  
  
"Merci."  
  
"I've already arranged it so that you can move in tomorrow," she said, popping the cupcake in her mouth. "Maybe you can get more work done in that new house." She swallowed. "This is good."  
  
"D'acc," France said, inspecting the document. England would love his new home, with the garden and the wine cellar--he'd probably be bouncing around the first time he visits.  
  
She stood up and dusted off her skirt. "Please don't forget, the president has set up a meeting with you this afternoon at two. Don't be late this time."  
  
"D'acc," he answered back, not really listening anymore as Renate made her way out.  
  
"Don't be late!"  
  
"I know," France grunted. Well, he'll visit England over the weekend and tell him the new address. He nodded, deciding that it was a good plan. He put the document back in the envelope and started working on his radio again.

* * *

  
The spell was supposed to keep France knocked out until he comes back. When France wakes up, England was supposed to be there, just casually telling the frog to come back before America starts World War Three. The frog was supposed to cry and complain and fall into his arms like he always does when he picks him up from his self-imposed emotion-induced isolation.  
  
At least, that's how he envisioned it to happen. Not like this.  
  
England pursed his lips as he stared at the empty bed in France's little cottage in Dunkirk, where he'd left France earlier to go to his meeting with the fae (which ended a lot faster than he'd initially anticipated). The frog just has to defy him in every way he can. It's frustrating. He ran his hand through his hair. He doesn't know where France could have gone. Depending on how long he's been knocked out, he could still be in Dunkirk on his way to Paris.  
  
He walked towards the bed to inspect it. It doesn't make sense. France shouldn't have left. The memory he'd injected in him should've made him wait, at least.  
  
A brief thought of him possibly fucking up the spell crossed his mind, but he shook his head. No. He couldn't have possibly. He read everything word-for-word five times. He couldn't have messed it up.  
  
Regardless, he needs to find France soon. He huffed and left the room.  
  
 _Paris it is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Memory spells and potions are highly regulated by the Seelie Court, because that makes sense and brings order to the world. In Flying Chocolate Bunny's appeal, he was supposed to make the potion and administer it himself, not Oliver.


	22. Chapter 22

France knocked on Belgium's door, shifting from foot to foot. He expected nothing less than a slap in the face. He was sure she would have been worried. It was just his luck that he remembered the ECSC Christmas Party (which they've been having every year since '52) just in time. He was sure that Belgium wouldn't forgive him if he missed it even once.  
  
He pursed his lips. It was selfish. Yes. To stay away from everyone just because he was upset and neglecting his duties entirely. To shut the world out for a good four months just because his heart was broken, and then waking up one day, strangely over himself, and deciding that enough was enough. He had deprived the world of himself for far too long.  
  
_Maybe I should've brought flowers?_  
  
The door opened with Belgium first blinking at him before her eyes widened at the realisation.  
  
He coughed and mustered a shaky smile. "I'm back?"  
  
Belgium launched herself on him, embracing him. "I thought something bad happened to you!" she cried.  
  
France rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sorry, ma puce."  
  
"You should be!" she cried, still hugging him. "Did you know Amerique almost started a World War because of you?"  
  
France raised a brow at that and just chuckled. "He would have done so regardless of my well-being."  
  
"Frankrijk?"  
  
France looked up at a surprised Netherlands, who was a few metres away from them, followed by an equally surprised Luxembourg.  
  
"Frankraich?" Luxembourg asked, walking up towards them. "Is that really you?"  
  
France gave a teary smile. "Oui. C'est moi." He caught Luxembourg in his embrace too as soon as he was within range.  
  
"Ow! Frankraich, let go!"  
  
"Francia!" France heard N Italy's voice before he and the other two nations were engulfed in a very excitable hug. "You'rebackyou'rebackyou'reback!"  
  
"Well if it isn't the bastardo."  
  
France waved at S Italy, who was too far away to absorb into their group hug. He felt his eyes water. How could he have deprived himself of his friends for so long?  
  
"Where were you? We were so worried! Even Fratello started asking help from il Papa to pray for your safe return! We were starting to think that you were kidnapped, tortured and fed terrible food!"  
  
"Obviously not, because he gained a few," Luxembourg said in a muffled voice, buried undearneath a mess of entangled arms.  
  
France just laughed, too tired to put up a fight about his strange weight gain. "I'm sorry, Italie. It was wrong of me to deprive you all of my brilliant presence."  
  
S Italy scoffed and the Netherlands snorted. "You're back, all right."  
  
"Did you tell Amerika yet?"  
  
"Euh...non."  
  
"That's okay! I'll tell him!" Belgium said, laughing.  
  
It was N Italy who released them first, grabbed his wrist and started leading him into the main room. The others followed them. "Come! The food might get cold! I left Germania to tend to it."  
  
"Oh the horror," France joked as he entered Belgium's living room, where his face almost crashed with a glass of something.  
  
"S-Sorry, Frankreich!" W Germany apologized, retracting his arm quickly that it was a miracle that nothing was spillt on the floor. "I-I didn't see you there."  
  
"Germania! Be careful!"  
  
France offered him a kind smile. "Think nothing of it, Allemagne."  
  
W Germany nodded, still flushed from embarassment before turning to N Italy. "The pasta is done--"  
  
"Yey!" N Italy cheered and zoomed back tot he kitchen quickly, with an irate S Italy and a laughing Belgium going after him.  
  
"Uhm...Frankreich."  
  
France looked back at W Germany, still red, who was offering him a mug of mulled wine.  
  
"Merci," France muttered, taking the hot drink.  
  
"Bitte schoen. Let me take that for you," W Germany said, taking the bottle of wine France had brought for the party and bringing it with him to the kitchen.  
  
The Netherlands draped his arm around France's shoulder and touched his glass with his in a friendly gesture. "Vrolijk Kerstfeest, Frankrijk."  
  
"Joyeux Noel, Pays-Bas," France answered back, grinning.  
  
He was among friends now, and isn't that what Christmas is supposed to be about?

* * *

France shoved his notes into his briefcase. At least he's done with the meeting now. He won't be seeing these assholes for another month, or at least until America gets paranoid again. More paranoid than normal, at least.  
  
Then he remembered he still had an ECSC meeting next week for that stupid treaty. _Merde._ Well, at least he'd be seeing less people.  
  
He felt like someone was looking at him and he looked up. England was openly staring at him, with an unreadable expression.  
  
He felt ice cold anger through his veins. _Freak._  
  
"Frankreich."  
  
France turned to W Germany. "You still up for some beers?"  
  
"Ouais," he answered, straightening up and scratching th scruff on his cheek. He needed something to drink. Luckily they were in Belgium so the beers wouldn't be so bad. And West Germany isn't bad company either.  
  
"Right, let's go," W Germany said, France followed him out.  
  
But he was stopped when someone grabbed his elbow. He looked down at the hand gripping him, then to it's owner.  
  
He scowled. "What do you want?"  
  
England opened his mouth, and then closed it again with a shaky smile. "I--I was wondering if--if I can join you?"  
  
France wrenched his arm away from England's grip. "You don't drink."  
  
"O-Oh. Y-You're going drinking," he stammered, gulping.  
  
France narrowed his eyes at him. What the fuck did he want? "Ouais."  
  
England laughed uneasily. "I--I was trying to visi--contact y-you last month but you--the landlord said you--you don't live there...anymore."  
  
"Ouais," he grunted. _Well, karma's real after all._ Not that England would've been sitting in the rain like he did, unfortunately. He was pretty sick of that apartment and decided to live somewhere bigger with a proper wine cellar, where no one or at least less people would bother him in his leisure time. Apparently, it's working.  
  
"I-I was wondering...if you had the time, maybe we could--we could spend time together?" England asked, this time looking at the floor.  
  
France felt annoyance creep into his spine. _So now he's ready to spend time with me, huh?_ Well, wasn't he a spoiled prick. "I'm busy."  
  
"O-Oh." England continued to stare at the floor.  
  
W Germany cleared his throat. "Are you two going to have a talk? If so, I'll go on ahead. You can catch up later."  
  
"Non," France muttered, glare drilling holes into England's head, oddly feeling like he missed something important, but quashed the feeling away with ease. "Let's go." He turned his back to England and left.

* * *

France bit into his croissant as he sat in the park. He needed some time to unwind, after the flurry of meetings with the ECSC. With a life-changing treaty about to be signed in Rome in a few weeks, it was not much of a surprise. Despite his weariness, however, there was a sense of accomplishment. All in all, it was a good day.  
  
He smelt a familiar whiff of mint that shouldn't at all be present there. "Menthe?" he whispered under his breath. "Is that you?"  
  
"Yes." France felt something soft and furry land on his shoulder.  
  
France exhaled, and then chuckled. "What are you doing here, mon ami? Wouldn't Angleterre go looking for you?"  
  
"No, I don't think so," his invisible friend said. "He doesn't know that you know about me."  
  
France just chuckled and went into companionable silence, chewing on his croissant.  
  
"How have you been?"  
  
France's brows jumped at the question. "Did you come all the way down here to check on me?"  
  
"Yes. You don't live in that flat anymore."  
  
France blinked and then laughed. "I'm sorry, Menthe. It was a spur of the moment decision. I'm fine. You should see my new house, cheri. It's lovely and in a quieter part of Paris."  
  
Flying Mint Bunny hummed. "Well, I'm glad you're doing well," his fairy friend said in a huffy tone that reminded him a little of England. Only a little.  
  
"I dreamt about you, you know."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Oui. There were two Angleterres and there were also two of you and two of me. The other Angleterre could cook and the other me couldn't. Could you believe such nonsense?" he laughed. The absurdity of it all. The other France in his dream didn't dress well either.

"That's pretty weird."  
  
"I know," France said, still laughing. "But, dreams are dreams. I hope next time I have a strange dream, it might involve a harem."  
  
"Hmmmm."  
  
France took another bite of his croissant. "How is rosbif doing?"  
  
"He's fine. Still England."  
  
"I see."  
  
"France?"  
  
"Hmmmm?" France asked, taking another bite of his snack.  
  
"Why did you lie?"  
  
France choked on his food. He pounded on his chest to force the morsel of bread down. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said hoarsely.  
  
"Don't lie," his invisible friend said, pout evident in his voice.  
  
He chuckled, taking a sip from his bottle of water. They sat in silence as France recovered from his choking. He gave a long-suffering sigh. "If...If I said I was proposing because I love him, would his answer have been any different?"  
  
There was a long pause. "Maybe not."  
  
France chuckled bitterly. "At least I was able to save face, hmmm? Otherwise, it would've been devastatingly humiliating."  
  
"He cares about you, you know."  
  
_Clearly not enough._ "Oui," France said quietly. "He cares enough to not even notice that I went missing for almost four months." It was strange, he had to admit, for him to stay in Dunkirk then, where time flew too fast for him to even realise he had shut himself from the world for more than three months, causing his friends to panic. It was a strange time. Broken hearts did strange things.  
  
His invisible friend's silence was enough confirmation.  
  
"But," he said, sighing. "That is how Angleterre is. It is time to move on."  
  
"Move on?"  
  
"Oui," France said, feeling proud. "I have a new admirer. He is giving me a social visit tomorrow."  
  
"I see."  
  
Again, silence. Flying Mint Bunny was usually much more talkative than this. It made him feel uncomfortable.  
  
"Would you like some macarons, mon petit? I have some at home."  
  
"That would be great."


	23. Chapter 23

England smoothed out the water damaged paper he'd pieced together with scotch tape to the best of his abilities, on his diary. It was difficult to say if he fixed it right. Some of the paper had already been destroyed by the rain and whatever was written on it was already dissolved by the water.

He found it when he decided to trim his hedges on his front yard the other day. He didn't know why there were pieces of paper there, but something in his heart told him that it might have been from France.

"It looks really damaged," Flying Chocolate Bunny commented quietly.

England just nodded as he taped the paper on his diary. He didn't put a date--he didn't really know when France probably gave it to him.

"Do you want me to fix it?" his fairy friend asked.

England's hand stilled. He swallowed. He didn't really know if he wanted to read whatever was written on it. What if...what if he'd written something--something that--

_What if he already hated me then?_

"England?"

He shook his head. "No. Thank you." His heart couldn't take it if the paper would contain something harsh and hateful. He'd rather pretend it was like some of France's other happier poems.

"Okay."

Once satisfied, England closed the diary and hugged it to his chest. He lay down on the couch and closed his eyes.

_Best friends._

Tears rolled down his closed eyes.

_Maybe someday._

* * *

 

Renata slid the piece of paper forward to Mr Bonnefoy, who grudgingly took it. He was in one of those moods again. She sighed. She'd hoped that good mood he had last December would stick. Whatever happened to that 'friend' who had given him the cupcakes? She would have asked, but she decided not to. If his mood told anything, it was that his fling probably didn't work out.

"--stop _daydreaming_."

She snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of Mr Bonnefoy's growl. "Oui, Mr Bonnefoy?"

"I asked you where Charles' signature is in this," he snarled, waving the paper at her, irritable as always.

She looked at the document. "It's on the back of the second page, Mr Bonnefoy."

He turned the page and grumbled something under his breath. _Not even an apology. Hmph._  He has been in a specially bad mood lately. She didn't really understand. She did hear, however, that he skipped the important ECSC Christmas party again this year. _No doubt going around in the catacombs getting drunk with absinthe again._  The police report came in the office saying that he did indeed spend Christmas there. The president had Mr Bonnefoy's catacombs escapades tracked for practical purposes.

"What are you standing around here for?" he snapped at her, glaring.

She exhaled. Having a more cheerful boss was too good to be true. Ah well. She needed to get something off her chest and his mood wasn't about to improve anytime soon. "Monsieur Bonnefoy...I had a dream about you."

"What?"

"I'm...not really sure if it's a dream but...I don't really remember being in your house and listening into your phone conversation--"

"This isn't something to talk about in the--"

"You were on the phone with someone. And that someone said he loves you," she blurted out. "I...I think it happened sometime before Christmas last year."

Her boss's brows knit in confusion.

"I don't know who the other person is, but...he had a British accent, I think," she continued. "And you rejected him because you said you weren't sure but you agreed to be best friends instead."

Mr Bonnefoy frowned at her. "Stop drinking too much coffee and go back to work."

She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Even if she thinks it was a dream, somehow, it felt like she really was there and she can hear their conversation even though it was on the phone. But that couldn't be, because she remembered she was with Hans that day. She nodded. "I'm sorry, sir," she muttered before she turned to leave the office.

"Renata."

She turned back around to look at her boss.

Mr Bonnefoy seemed to be reading his documents. "Did I visit the catacombs before Christmas?"

She raised a brow at him. "N-No, sir. Not in our records, at least," she replied. It was a strange question. Mr Bonnefoy never asked her a question like this before. "Is there something wrong?"

Her boss rubbed at his temples, looking terribly disturbed. "It's just that my tag--" he shook his head. "Never mind, go back to work."

She looked at him, concerned, before she exited his office and went back to her desk.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I can start posting Gatesverse main here.
> 
> This isn't the end yet! Hahaha

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote last July 2012 for the Kink meme, and my first time dabbling with the 2P verse.
> 
> I think out of all the works I've done for this fandom, this is my second most enjoyable piece. I was actually able to show my readers my playlist to my advantage, and I was able to shell out some characters in the process.
> 
> I intend to post the extended version this time, just like in It Started with a Quiche.


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